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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27681503">Evergreen: The Killing Kind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazybooklover20/pseuds/crazybooklover20'>crazybooklover20</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DC - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Bruce Wayne has mommy issues, Canon NON compliant, Character Death, Daddy Issues, Dark Humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Everyone Needs A Hug, Explicit Language, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Mommy Issues, Multi, NO BETA we die like bat boys, Other, POV Alternating, Pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Random OC's - Freeform, Redemtion, Revenge, Sex, Sexual Violence, The Author Regrets Nothing, Timeline? What Timeline?, Torture, domestic abuse, head canon, mostly - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:06:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>38,483</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27681503</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazybooklover20/pseuds/crazybooklover20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>While minding her own damn business, Pamela Isley gets kidnapped. Her overly-sheltered daughter is determined to get her back. And the Batfam is willing to help…with a few exceptions.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bruce Wayne/His Children, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello you, </p><p>Let me start off by saying that I've always been enamoured with the Batfam. I'm quite intrigued by the relationships Bruce has formed with his sons and I thought I'd explore that world a bit for myself. This is the first part of a series I wrote many years ago that does centre an OC (I know, eyeroll) but I think it has an interesting take. As for logistics, this is a fusion of inspiration from Batman the animated series, older DCAMU movies, Gotham City Sirens and a dash of the Nolanverse. It's very much head canon though so don't expect too much from me. </p><p>Anyways, buckle up, it's about to be a wild ride. :) Happy reading!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>An Arrangement</p>
<hr/><p>A fresh start.</p><p>That was the bargain. That was what she was asking for.</p><p>With tremors so intense, they possessed the force to jostle her off her feet, Swamp Thing parted the earth and rose theatrically from the abyss. He stood before her in his humanoid form.</p><p>She marveled at his ethereal beauty, even still, after all this time, the sight of him filled her with a comfort no other being could provide. Whether she was feeling the essence of The Green itself wafting from him or some other intangible pull, she couldn’t resist. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the garden of moist moss between her fingers.</p><p>“What happened to you, Ivy?” He asked.   </p><p>Despite herself, she laughed. He’d never been one for pleasantries.</p><p>“I need your help—or rather, your protection.”</p><p>Eyebrows made of trimmed strands of Thuja knit together, as he tilted his head down as if to see her more clearly. </p><p>“You’ve never asked before.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “I’ve never needed you before.”</p><p>“What’s changed.”</p><p>Ivy drew her hand back and reached for the knot tied at her neck. She undid the satin strings and allowed her cloak to fall to the ground.</p><p>Swamp Thing’s vermillion eyes travelled down her naked body, lingering for a long moment at her midsection.</p><p>“What have you done?” he asked her.</p><p>“What’s been done is of little importance. What matters now, is her. Tell me you’ll protect her.”</p><p>His vines elongated, stretching and curling around her swollen belly. The baby was due in a few months’ time.</p><p>He released a low hum that sounded as if it had been torn from the core of the earth. “You keep the child in the woodlands, away from civilization and I’ll see to it that no harm comes to either of you.”</p><p>Ivy nodded, cupping her stomach. The baby kicked at her touch.</p><p>“She has a connection to The Green, Alec. I can sense it,” Ivy told him.</p><p>And so, she’d act as catalyst to her new start. With the birth of the baby, so too would Ivy be reborn. Her past and the person she used to be would cease to exist. The guarantee of life anew. That was what she’d asked for. That is what she received.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I - Kalmia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“A man who studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green.” - Francis Bacon</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kalmia</p><hr/><p>The Time Taken </p><p>Three minutes. </p><p>A small space of time, hardly discernible from banal occurrences of daily life. The old analog clock ticked the seconds down, like a set timer. Kalmia’s eyes shifted to the darkened doorway, currently empty. </p><p>Two minutes. </p><p>A rattle took shape in her breathing, giving life to the anxiety welling inside. She sat forward, straightening her back, lifting her shoulders. There weren’t any wrinkles to be smoothed in her emerald tank top but her fingers ran over the fabric repeatedly, looking for a single line she’d missed. </p><p>Breathe.</p><p>One minute. </p><p>Kalmia shot the potted plant seated on the table next to her a sidelong glance. She didn’t dare speak, unsure her mouth could properly form the words. Instead, her eyes fell shut, a silent prayer tumbling from her lips. </p><p>The clock struck nine. </p><p>The light in the hall flickered on. With both eyes fixated on the doorway, Kalmia watched her mother strut into the kitchen. Dressed to go, in her black leather jacket and organic cotton slacks, she tucked her purse onto her shoulder. Pamela saw her daughter sitting at the breakfast nook, eyes wide and unblinking. </p><p>“Good morning mama,” Kalmia chirped. </p><p>It came out too cheery, strained. She cleared her throat as her mother leaned against the counter, her arms crossing over her chest. Pamela scanned her daughter, her careful eyes narrowed. </p><p>“Kal? What is this?”</p><p>There was a speech she’d prepared with Blue. Long, but eloquent. It was half a decade’s worth of hoping crammed into three double sided pages. </p><p>Every moment of the last two weeks consisted of Kalmia pouring over her words, committing every syllable to memory. But under her mother’s penetrative gaze, with her heart beating like a jackhammer, Kalmia couldn’t think up a single word. </p><p>“I…” </p><p>She fought to remember. Her erratic breathing intensified. In such a crucial moment, her mind went entirely blank. How could she forget? </p><p>“Kal, I have to go,” her mother said, shooting the clock a brief glance. </p><p>Time was up. </p><p>“I-I want to go with you.” </p><p>An abbreviation of the speech, but effective in delivering the intended sentiment.  </p><p>In an instant, Pamela’s demeanour changed. The older woman grew rigid, turning from her daughter and peering out of the awning window over the sink. </p><p>“Kalmia—</p><p>The tone was off. The inflection at the end of her name shifted down, an occurrence relegated for admonitions and the delivery of bad news. Kalmia knew she hadn’t done anything to upset her mother so it had to be the latter. </p><p>Without registering her movements, Kalmia was on her feet, her hands coming up to her chest, fingers intwined. </p><p>“I don’t want anything else, I swear I don’t want gifts this year, I don’t even want the chocolate cake. Just…please let me come. I’ll be good! Better than good, really!”</p><p>Pamela waited for her daughter to finish. She could feel her excitement like an invisible presence in the room. Perhaps that is why she kept her eyes locked on the window as she spoke. </p><p>“I’m sorry my flower, but you can’t come with me.” </p><p>Her courage began its descent towards her soles. She had reasons, an explanation teed up but upon examining her mother’s expression, they all felt like a waste of breath. </p><p>“Please mama!” </p><p>The older woman crossed the room, her hands coming up to cup her daughter’s face. She smoothed her auburn hair from her eyes and ran her thumbs across the bridge of her nose. </p><p>“Gotham City isn’t the place you’ve dreamed it up to be.” </p><p>The sincerity in her voice was frustrating. It sounded final. It left little room for negotiation. </p><p>“I’m not a kid anymore. I’m practically seventeen.” </p><p>“Your age has no bearing on my decision Kalli. I know it’s seems unfair but I am doing what’s best for you.”</p><p>Kalmia wrenched her face from her mother’s grasp, stepping back. She was familiar with those words, the sentiment was echoed any time Kalmia pushed the boundaries, travelled a little too far from her mother’s reach. </p><p>“You always say that plants need their space to grow. But you won’t extend me the same curtesy.” </p><p>Anger had bloomed in her chest, sharpening her tone. She was no longer pleading, she was demanding.</p><p>“You have plenty of space here Kalmia. A whole forest at your disposal. Why concern yourself with the city?” </p><p>The blend of fury and frustration welled over, filling her eyes with tears. “Because it’s all I’ve ever known! It’s all you’ve ever let me know and I'm tired of it!”</p><p>The thought of countless nights spent dreaming of the city came to mind. There was so much Kalmia wanted to know—so much to see, if only her mother would let her. </p><p>“You’d do well to watch your tone.” </p><p>Pamela rarely needed to reproach her daughter especially as she grew older. But she wouldn’t stand for her to throw a fit over something so worthless. </p><p>“You can be upset,” she said coolly. “But that doesn’t erase the fact that I am your mother. What I say, goes.” </p><p>The battle was lost, Kalmia wanted simply to retreat. Lick her wounds and lament about the injustice she faced. </p><p>“Yes mama.” </p><p>With her eyes on her feet, she picked up Bluebell’s pot, pressing the ceramic to her chest. </p><p>“Once I return with your favourite chocolate cake, you’ll forget all about this, you'll see.” </p><p>Pamela leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Kalmia’s forehead. </p><p>“I love you,” said the older woman. </p><p>Kalmia nodded, already moving towards the door. Her reply tumbled from her lips, brittle and meaningless. </p><p>“You too.” </p><p>She didn’t wait for a response. As soon as she pushed out the door, she took off running through the trees. Weaving and bounding towards her destination, she hardly paid attention to the forest floor. In her seventeen years, she’d explored every square inch, and grown familiar with every spec of dirt. </p><p>Kalmia came to a halt at Patsy, a massive sycamore. Her fingers tapped the bark lightly. </p><p>“Mind if we climb up?” </p><p>Patsy tilted, lowering her branch for Kalmia to grasp onto. Patsy did all the heavy lifting, carrying Kalmia towards her crown. Once seated on the highest branch that could support her weight, Kalmia leaned back and sighed. </p><p>“How could she say no? She didn’t even give me a chance!”</p><p>“Maybe if you had stuck to the script…” Blue replied. </p><p>“I tried—I was going to but…I forgot.” </p><p>Blue tutted in disapproval. “Unlike you simple minded creatures, a plant never forgets.”</p><p>Kalmia’s eyes rolled towards the morning sky. After the blow her mother had doled out, the last thing she wanted to hear was her plant’s snarky opinions about human inferiority. </p><p>“Maybe she’ll go for it next year,” Blue volunteered in a softer tone. </p><p>Kalmia scoffed. Her mother wasn’t a stern woman but whenever she put her foot down, there was no changing her mind. Kalmia knew that her mother’s obstinacy wouldn’t change no matter how many years went by.</p><p>Her gaze travelled to a spec in the distance. Approximately twenty miles north-east, across the river, laid the city of Gotham. From where she sat, on a clear day, Kalmia could make out the city’s skyline. For her sixteenth birthday, she’d asked her mother for binoculars so she could get a closer glimpse. The first building that came into focus was a skyscraper so tall, it dwarfed all the surrounding structures. After some light research, Kalmia discovered its name. The Wayne Tower. </p><p>From then on, she dreamed of seeing the glassy monstrosity from within the city limits. She had no preference as to whether she ever wanted to visit the building but just to look at it, to tilt her head up and watch the tower disappear into the clouds from even a few miles away would have been more than enough. </p><p>“I think it’s for the best,” said Blue. </p><p>She looked down at her potted plant and her eyebrows drew together.   </p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Everything you need is right here. What more could you want?” </p><p>Kalmia pondered the question. She could chalk up her engrossment with Gotham to plain curiosity or the need to abate her yearning for adventure. Truthfully, Kalmia felt like she was missing out. There was a whole world of experiences she was foregoing every day that she spent at home. She didn’t know what secrets the city held but she wanted so desperately to uncover its mysteries. And she was well aware that she wasn’t going to find out anything if she stayed here. </p><p>Kalmia pointed to the sky. “Look, that cloud looks like an apple pie.” </p><p>Blue agreed, deciding not to comment on the change of subject. Instead, her petals spread as she pointed. “Look at that one. It’s an airplane.” </p><p>Kalmia tilted her head to a side, studying the fluffy mass. “It sort of looks like a…grand piano.” </p><p>Blue disagreed. “Your eyes are broken.” </p><p>“At least I have eyes,” Kalmia snorted.  </p><p>“Cheap shot, you primitive simian.”</p><p>“Tough talk, you vapid weed.” </p><p>A tense moment passed between them before the pair dissolved into hiccupping laughter. Kalmia hugged Blue to her chest. Maybe this could be sufficient. Her life here was by no means <em>bad</em>. She loved everything she had at home and despite their spat, she loved her mother. Perhaps the secrets of Gotham weren’t hers to know. Perhaps they never would be. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>There were noises. A cacophony of sounds swelling all around her. Laughter, chatter, honking cars and crying babies. Kalmia stood in the middle of the chaos and in every direction, there was something new to see. To her right the infamous Wayne Tower with the doors open, should she wish to enter. To her left, a magnificent water fountain with dozens of people crowding around the rim. Behind her was her mother, smiling and waving as she approached.</p><p>“Kal?” She called.</p><p>Her mother strode towards her but for some reason, the distance between them refused to close. Kalmia glanced down to see her feet entangled in a web of thick Liana vines.</p><p>A concentrated dose of fear travelled down her spine as she struggled against the constriction, but her attempts were futile. In response to her erratic movements, the vines tightened further. Her feet grew numb.</p><p>“Kal?”</p><p>This time, the voice sounded closer, but her mother had moved forty yards back, barely visible.</p><p>“KALMIA!”</p><p>Kalmia’s eyes shot open and she sat forward quickly, tipping her off balance. If it weren’t for Patsy’s quick reflexes, shooting out a branch to steady her, Kalmia would have fallen to certain death. She gasped, pressing a hand to her sweat soaked chest. Her body was stiff from remaining dormant for so long. As she pushed her hair out of her face, she noticed the sun dipping into the horizon.</p><p>That couldn’t be right, when she’d come up…it was still early. She blinked and looked down at Blue. </p><p>“It’s sunset,” her plant said.  </p><p>Kalmia nodded and stretched. Despite lazing about all day, she wasn’t in a particular rush to head down. The injustice of her mother’s decision still nipped at her throat and the thought of facing her caused Kalmia’s anger to resurface with a vengeance.</p><p>Kalmia wiped the sleep from her eyes as she looked around.</p><p>“Do you think she’s back yet?” Kalmia asked.</p><p>Blue’s bulb motioned up and down as she nodded. “She would have been gone for at least twelve hours by now.”</p><p>“You’re right,” Kalmia replied as she stretched.</p><p>Taking her time, she climbed down. Once on solid ground she gave Patsy a pat.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Patsy shimmied her branches in reply.</p><p>Kalmia carried Blue back to the house. As she got inside, her stomach rumbled loudly. She went straight for the kitchen, pulling out a bowl of red grapes.</p><p>As she popped a few in her mouth, she poked her head into the living room.</p><p>“Mama?”</p><p>The living room was empty. Carrying the bowl, she walked to her mother’s room. Kalmia pushed open the door and looked inside. The room was also empty. She scurried through the rest of the house before returning to the kitchen.</p><p>“Blue, she’s not here.”</p><p>“That’s strange. It’s late.”<br/>Kalmia nodded, looking at the analog clock that hung on the wall. Twenty past eight.</p><p>“Maybe there’s a lot of traffic,” Blue offered.</p><p>Kalmia leaned against the counter in the same position her mother had been earlier. A lump formed in her throat as guilt nestled its way into her chest. She wondered if her mother had decided to stay out later because of their fight. She shouldn’t have been so curt. The thought of mother choosing not to come home because of her made her sick with contrition.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Kalmia told Blue, swallowing her emotions. “She’ll be back soon.”<br/>Kalmia nodded and shot a glance out the window. Her mother would return, she was certain of it.</p><p> </p><p>*** </p><p> </p><p>Time seemed to come to a near standstill as Kalmia waited on the steps of her front porch for her mother. She watched the sun disappear behind the horizon and still her mother hadn’t showed. Even as midnight crept on up, Kalmia remained on the steps, waiting.</p><p>“Something’s happened,” Kalmia muttered in the dark.</p><p>Blue was quiet. Neither of them could conceive an explanation. Mother had never been gone this long and she wouldn’t have done so intentionally.</p><p>Kalmia’s mind began to wander with possibilities. Maybe she’d gotten stuck in traffic or taken a wrong turn and lost her way. Maybe she’d been hurt or captured or worse.</p><p>The minutes trickled by. It was killing Kalmia—the not knowing made monsters out of molehills in her mind.</p><p>“What do we do?” Kalmia asked as she hugged her potted plant to her chest.</p><p>Once again, Blue was quiet.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Pamela </p><hr/><p>Changing Seasons </p><p> </p><p><span class="s-0">It was a beautiful day. A rarity in the desolate city. </span> <span class="s-1">The cold wetness of winter had subsided in lieu of budding greenery. </span> <span class="s-2">The frigid air was sweetened with the promise of growth. </span> <span class="s-3">Soon enough, the deciduous trees would be bursting with life, showering the drab grey in shades of emerald and jade. </span></p><p><span class="s-4">Pam stopped as she caught sight of a bud poking out from in between the crack in the pavement slabs. </span> <span class="s-5">A symbol of the negligence suffered by plant life at the very hands of the creatures meant to nurture them. </span> <span class="s-6">Humans disregarded the miracle of nature on earth to erect urban complexes—asphalt deserts, without consideration for the widespread destruction it caused. </span> <span class="s-7">Flora, such as this little Rudbeckia hirta was forced to fight for life in the roughest of conditions. </span> <span class="s-8">Pam had a few words for the assholes who dared cover up the fertile ground that belonged to this plant but at the risk of garnering unwanted attention, she knelt instead. </span> <span class="s-9">The tip of her index grazed the nascent leaf and she leaned back to watch it bloom. </span> <span class="s-10">In a few seconds, the seedling sprouted into a mature Black-eyed Susan. </span></p><p><span class="s-11">Susan wouldn’t make it through her life cycle, some foolish human would trip over the their feet and blame the plant. </span> <span class="s-12">She’d be cruelly torn from the ground and left to die. </span> <span class="s-13">As was the fate of most plants in Gotham City. </span></p><p><span class="s-14">Pam carried on towards her destination. </span><span class="s-15">The little bakery was only about an hour from her home, but the trip was well worth it. </span> <span class="s-16">Nobody made baked goods like Blossom. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-17">“Good morning Blossom,” Pam smiled as she stepped inside the small shop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-18">“Well look who we have here. You’re about the only morning person I know,” Blossom replied. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-19">One of the few humans Pam actually enjoyed interacting with. </span> <span class="s-20">Granted, they only spoke once a year, aside from the phone call to place the order. </span> <span class="s-21">Pam was happy to keep it that way. </span> <span class="s-22">Over-socializing with her native species made her sick. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-23">“There’s alway been something about the early bird and the worm that spoke to me,” Pam replied as she came towards the counter. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-24">“Teach me your ways,” Blossom laughed.</span> <span class="s-25"> “I’ll be back in a moment.” </span></p><p><span class="s-25">She disappeared into the back just as Pam’s cell rang. </span> <span class="s-26">She pulled out her prepaid flip phone and checked the I.D. and bit back a smile.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-27">“Hello?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-27">“RED! Are you in the city? Mr. Jackass is on the loose.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-28">She heaved a sigh. Her attempts to stay out of Gotham’s business were futile no matter how many ties she cut, no matter how long she stayed away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-29">Blossom came back, holding Kalmia’s cake in her hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-30">Pam pursed her lips. “Um, Blossom I need to step out for a second.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-31">Blossom nodded, her face pinched tightly in something resembling a scowl. </span> <span class="s-32">Pam wanted to tell her she didn’t have to worry, she wasn’t going to lose her business. </span></p><p><span class="s-33">In the alleyway between the two buildings, Pam checked the time on the phone. </span> <span class="s-34">Fifteen after ten. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-34">“Where are you?” Pam asked.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-35">“Just left the house,” she replied. </span> <span class="s-36">“I was about to call an Uber but I forgot the fucking password and I can’t get into my account.</span> <span class="s-37"> Stupid ass—TAXI!” </span></p><p><span class="s-37">Pam pulled the phone from her ear. </span> <span class="s-38">Partial deafness wasn't something she wanted to experience before old age.</span></p><p><span class="s-39">As she opened her mouth, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. Multiple pairs and quickly approaching. She shot a glance over her shoulder, a gasp dangling from her lips. </span><span class="s-42">No time to react, no time at all. </span> <span class="s-43">A blow to her head caused her to stumble into the brick wall, dropping the phone. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-44">“Vai!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-44">That was the last sound she heard before a fist connected with her chin, plunging her into the cold depths of unconsciousness. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. II - Kalmia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kalmia</p><hr/><p>King Of The Green  </p><p> </p><p><span class="s-0">Kalmia refused to close her eyes. </span> <span class="s-1">Though impossible, she was adamant that blinking for too long would cause her to miss her mother’s arrival. </span> <span class="s-2">So, she simply sat in the darkness, eyes peeled, waiting. </span> <span class="s-3">The early spring night was kind to her, never dipping below seventy degrees Fahrenheit. </span> <span class="s-4">A cool breeze tickled her skin, but Kalmia’s gooseflesh had nothing to do with the temperature. </span> <span class="s-5">It felt as though with every passing minute, her mother’s return grew more and more improbable. </span></p><p><span class="s-6">It wasn’t long before the sky traded its dark hues for a mid-morning blue. </span> <span class="s-7">Her eyes burned, itching to close for more than a few milliseconds at a time. </span> <span class="s-8">A loud yawn sprung from Kalmia’s mouth and she wondered why sleeping all day hadn’t provided her the energy to stay up all night. </span></p><p><span class="s-9">Eventually she’d have to get up, she knew she couldn’t sit on the porch step forever. </span> <span class="s-10">But what would that mean? Was she giving into the notion that her mother wasn’t coming back? </span> <span class="s-11">Was she giving up hope?</span></p><p><span class="s-11">A thud sounded from within the denser understory directly ahead. </span> <span class="s-12">It wasn’t near the trail her mother had carved over the years of her travels but the noise, nonetheless, launched Kalmia to her feet. </span> <span class="s-13">Her pounding heart lodged itself into her throat as she squinted, stepping tentatively off the porch.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-14">“Mama?”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-14">There was a rustling of branches and with it, a form appeared. </span> <span class="s-15">Far too large to be her mother, and entirely the wrong color.</span></p><p><span class="s-16">Hope plummeted to the ground at her feet as Swamp Thing emerged from the tree-line. </span> <span class="s-17">Casting her disappointment aside, she sprinted for the lumbering being, throwing her arms around him.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-18">“How’s my favorite meat bag?” He asked her, in his rumbling baritone voice.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-19">Vines detached from his core, wrapping around her wrists. </span> <span class="s-20">They yanked Kalmia forward, throwing her over his shoulder. </span> <span class="s-21">Breathless giggles burst from Kalmia as she tumbled over his gigantic back, coming around and up underneath his arm. </span> <span class="s-22">He cradled her to his chest, enveloping her in his gouty-moss-covered embrace.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-23">“Happy birthday, little Evergreen.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-24">The smile fell from her lips as she looked up at the hulking figure.</span> <span class="s-25"> “Greenie, something’s happened to my mom.”</span></p><p><span class="s-26">Swamp Thing’s vermillion eyes narrowed.</span> <span class="s-27"> “What is it?”</span></p><p><span class="s-27">“She left for Gotham yesterday and hasn’t come back.</span> <span class="s-28"> She’s never gone for more than a day.”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-29">He was silent for a long moment, his expression indecipherable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-30">“I’m going after her,” Kalmia continued.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-31">She hadn’t made up her mind until the words slipped from her mouth. </span> <span class="s-32">She'd wasted enough time waiting. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-33">His response was subtle. A mere quirk at the corners of his mouth; a grimace of disapproval. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-34">“Absolutely not. You know the rules.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-35">Kalmia tugged at the vines on her wrist, unbinding herself. </span> <span class="s-36">Swamp Thing lowered her to the ground.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-37">“She’s missing. You expect me to stay here and just hope she’ll come back?”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-38">He made a noise, a weighty grumble in the back of his throat.</span> <span class="s-39"> “I will venture to the city, scout the wasteland myself.”</span></p><p><span class="s-40">Kalmia shook her head, exasperation trickling into her tone. </span> <span class="s-41">“She’s my mother! I won’t let you go alone.”</span></p><p><span class="s-42">His boulder sized head shook back and forth.</span> <span class="s-43"> “Pam would rip me a new one if I let you anywhere near that decrepit hellscape.”</span></p><p><span class="s-44">“But what if she’s hurt or in trouble?</span> <span class="s-45"> You can’t expect me to stay here.”</span></p><p><span class="s-46">Kalmia wanted his stamp of approval if for nothing but to confirm her motives. </span> <span class="s-47">She was fully aware that finding her mother also happened to coincide with her goal to reach the city. </span> <span class="s-48">And she wouldn’t ever admit it, but Kalmia was almost grateful to have a reason to go—even if that reason truly terrified her.</span></p><p><span class="s-49">Something that sounded vaguely like a sigh escaped from him.</span> <span class="s-50"> “If I ask nicely, will you stay?”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-51">Her response was immediate. “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-52">Another reverberation, this one distinctly irritated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-53">“There are risks.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-53">Swamp Thing had always been less rigid than her mother, affording Kalmia liberties that she wouldn't dare ask of the older woman. </span> <span class="s-54">The first time he’d taken her to the edge of the forest, she saw a car in person. </span> <span class="s-55">Kalmia was thirteen and as soon as she returned home, she drew the silvery box on wheels from her memory, down to the last detail, determined never to forget it.</span></p><p><span class="s-56">“None that outweigh me staying here.</span> <span class="s-57"> I mean this sincerely Greenie, I’m going either way.”</span></p><p><span class="s-58">Swamp Thing blew air from his tabular nose. </span> <span class="s-59">He folded at the knee, crouching for her. </span> <span class="s-60">Kalmia quashed feelings of victory as she climbed up his verdant back, settling on his broad shoulders. </span> <span class="s-61">As he rose, memories flooded of the many piggy-back rides Swamp Thing had given Kalmia over the years. </span> <span class="s-62">She wrapped her hands securely around his neck, careful not to press too hard. </span> <span class="s-63">She’d grown rather fond of her green pal and whenever life permitted, he’d stop by to hang out. </span> <span class="s-64">Kalmia looked forward to their time together, especially when he stopped by for her birthday. </span> <span class="s-65">His gifts were always the best.</span></p><p><span class="s-66">Swamp Thing carried them through the trees, moving faster than her human eyes could perceive. </span> <span class="s-67">She loved the feeling of hurtling through the forest with wild abandon. </span> <span class="s-68">It was the rush she craved, the feeling of absolute weightlessness as they soared through the trees. </span> <span class="s-69">Nothing in her quiet, quaint existence provided such freedom and nothing could ever amount to the feeling. </span> <span class="s-70">It was pure, unadulterated bliss.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-71">“Greenie?” Her voice was lost to the wind, but he managed to hear her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-72">“Hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-72">“Why do you hate the city so much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-73">He slowed as he replied, the wind no longer rustling loudly in her ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-74">“It’s a living graveyard.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-74">His explanation didn’t provide much information. </span> <span class="s-75">Kalmia couldn’t understand why both he and her mother were hellbent on referring to Gotham in such a negative light. </span> <span class="s-76">From where she watched up in the treetops, from all those miles away, she only saw beauty.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-77">“Is that why you don’t go there anymore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-78">The corded muscles of his back tensed beneath her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-79">“No.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-79">Swamp Thing was a man of few words, but she’d hoped for more than a monosyllable. </span> <span class="s-80">He picked up the pace, effectively delivering the message that their conversation was over.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-81">Kalmia laid her head atop his and rested her tired eyes, for but a moment she promised herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p><span class="s-0">There was something tickling her nose. </span> <span class="s-1">It pressed into her nostrils and skimmed along the length of her face. </span> <span class="s-2">Kalmia peeked open an eye and was met with strands of grass, her face pressed into the ground. </span> <span class="s-3">She lifted her head, blinking. </span> <span class="s-4">It was still daylight and with a hand over her eyes, she squinted through the sunlight as her vision came into focus.</span></p><p><span class="s-5">She was laying in the wild grass that grew at the edge of the forest in Bristol. </span> <span class="s-6">Directly ahead, across the water, perhaps the distance of two miles, was the district of Burnley. </span> <span class="s-7">Beyond that was Old Gotham, home to the tallest building in the city. </span> <span class="s-8">It felt so close as if she was already there.</span></p><p><span class="s-9">Sitting up, she drew Blue’s pot to her chest. </span> <span class="s-10">A trepid sort of thrill bloomed as she stared out at the tip of Burnley. </span> <span class="s-11">After all these years, could she really be this close to seeing the city for herself?</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-12">“He said he’d be back soon,” Blue told her.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-13">Only then did she remember why she was out here. </span> <span class="s-14">There was no room for excitement with her mother missing, potentially in danger. </span> <span class="s-15">She suppressed any form of elation as she stretched and got to her feet.</span></p><p><span class="s-16">The sun’s position in the sky warned of the quickly approaching sunset. </span> <span class="s-17">Kalmia estimated two hours before this side of the globe would be plunged into darkness. </span> <span class="s-18">If she was going to find her mother, she needed to act quickly.</span></p><p><span class="s-19">There was a noise behind her. </span> <span class="s-19">Kalmia whipped around as Swamp Thing emerged from behind a mature red oak. </span> <span class="s-20">He came to a halt, his shoulders hunched forward, his expression grim.</span> <span class="s-21"> “I wasn’t able to locate her.”</span></p><p><span class="s-22">Kalmia tried to swallow the bout of panic that wrapped around her throat, threatening to suffocate her. </span> <span class="s-23">If Greenie couldn’t find her, what hope did she have?</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-24">“The bakery. He doesn’t know about the bakery,” Blue reminded her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-25">“What bakery?” Swamp Thing asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-26">“Mom went to pick up my cake from the bakery…”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-27">She pictured the plain cardboard box. </span> <span class="s-28">A sticker with a bubbly golden font adorned the top. </span> <span class="s-29">“Blossom's Bakery” inscribed with pretty peach blossoms adorning the letters.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-30">“Blossom's, I have to go there.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-31">With her mind already made up, she began to move towards the city. </span> <span class="s-32">Swamp Thing placed a large hand on her head, stopping her in her tracks.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-33">“Not today. Tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-33">Kalmia swatted his hand away and pulled a face. </span> <span class="s-34">“I can’t wait! What if every second that she’s out there alone, is one more moment I am closer to losing her? </span><span class="s-35">Who knows what could have happened!</span> <span class="s-36"> I have to go now.”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-36">“The city’s not safe.”</span>
</p><p>She heaved a sigh, tired of the mantra they were dead set on feeding her. Why did they have so little faith in her? </p><p><span class="s-38">“Which is why I have to go get her!</span> <span class="s-39"> Please understand!”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-39">Swamp Thing hmphed, his mouth pressed into a firm line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-40">“Greenie?”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-40">“Find a park for the night. The trees will protect you.</span> <span class="s-41"> Stay on your guard.”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-41">Kalmia nodded. “Will do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-42">“Promise you will be careful.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-43">The worry in his tone put Kalmia on edge. </span> <span class="s-44">She knew that the city was dangerous, but they acted as if she was tumbling headfirst into a pit of Timber rattlesnakes. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-45">“I promise.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-45">Kalmia closed the distance between them and gave the hulking figure a tight squeeze, pressing her face to his moss-covered chest. </span> <span class="s-46">He hugged her tightly, pushing the air from her lungs. </span> <span class="s-47">There was a quality to this hug that wasn’t apparent in any other. </span> <span class="s-48">It felt to Kalmia like a silent goodbye.</span></p><p><span class="s-49">“I’ll be back,” she murmured. </span> <span class="s-49">There was no need for goodbyes, this was only a “see you later” embrace.</span></p><p><span class="s-50">Swamp Thing pulled away, his finger grazed the length of her arm. </span> <span class="s-51">As his finger moved, Euphorbia milii blossomed along her skin. </span> <span class="s-52">The thorns nestled against the stem, preventing them from digging into her flesh. </span> <span class="s-53">The stems wrapped around the length of either arm, tangling into the base of her auburn hair. </span> <span class="s-54">He’d bequeathed her a Crown of Thorns.  </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-55">“I am with you, little Evergreen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-56">“Thank you, Greenie.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-56">Kalmia bent down and picked up Blue. </span> <span class="s-57">With a final wave, she headed for Gotham city.</span></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. III - Pamela</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pamela</p><hr/><p>To Kill A Plant</p><p> </p><p><span class="s-0">It had been a while since Pam was last knocked unconscious. </span> <span class="s-1">She’d forgotten the unpleasant experience of coming to, groggy and disoriented with a pounding headache. </span><span class="s-2">Steeped in a quiescent haze, it took her mind a little while to gather her memories. </span><span class="s-3">Blossom’s. The alleyway. The men who’d attacked her. </span><span class="s-4">That would explain the migraine. </span> <span class="s-5">Her current whereabouts were another story.</span></p><p><span class="s-6">She couldn’t see much due to the fabric sac draped over her head. </span> <span class="s-7">It smelled of solanine, a glycoalkaloid poison found in potatoes and other plants of the Solanum dulcamara species. </span> <span class="s-8">Harmful to humans, Pam found the bitter smell a nuisance.</span></p><p><span class="s-9">As she shifted, she realized that her hands and feet were bound. </span> <span class="s-10">There was a clang of metal as she twisted her arms behind her back.</span> <span class="s-11">If they were standard issue cuffs, she was confident she could wiggle herself out of them.</span></p><p><span class="s-12">Before she could attempt it, there was the squawk of old metal hinges a few feet to her left. </span> <span class="s-13">She slumped, head lolled to a side and shut her eyes.</span></p><p><span class="s-14">Two sets of feet trudged towards her. </span> <span class="s-15">If only one of them dared to stand behind her.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-16">“Dita sta arrivando ora,” a deep voice whispered.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-17">Someone else cleared their throat. </span> <span class="s-18">He sounded close to her, close enough to touch. </span> <span class="s-19">But she wouldn’t move until she was absolutely certain.</span></p><p><span class="s-20">The door opened again. The footsteps that followed were punctuated with the click-clack of stilettos. </span> <span class="s-21">A woman. Her perfume permeated the space with the synthetic sent of orange blossom and vanilla.</span></p><p><span class="s-22">Pam shouldn’t have been taken aback, she was after all, a dangerous woman. </span> <span class="s-23">Why would another woman with a hand in criminal dealings surprise her?</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-24">“Grazie, ragazzi.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-24">Her velvety voice had the texture of rose petals. </span> <span class="s-25">Smooth, soft, sturdy. It was the voice of a woman who was comfortable giving orders, never needing to scream to get attention. </span> <span class="s-26">She sounded like confidence personified.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-27">Pam was intrigued. What business did she have with a woman like that?</span>
</p><p><span class="s-28">At once, the sac was ripped from her head. </span> <span class="s-29">Pam squinted in the dim yellow light. </span><span class="s-30">She paid no mind to the men standing in the shadows of her periphery. </span> <span class="s-31">Instead, she focused solely on the pretty woman sitting in front of her. </span> <span class="s-32">Glossy black hair, pale skin, hazel eyes narrowed ever so slightly. </span> <span class="s-33">A sizeable mole on her left cheek. </span><span class="s-34">Nothing about this woman was familiar. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-35">Pam knit her eyebrows.“Who the hell are you?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-36">The woman’s lips pulled apart to reveal two rows of glistening, white teeth.</span> <span class="s-37">She folded her gloved hands together on the table. </span> <span class="s-38">Her smile was too big, stretching too far over her narrow face. </span> <span class="s-39">There was a twisted sense of perversion in the way her lips pulled taut, her dark eyes alit with excitement. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-40">“I am so glad you asked. I’ve waited what feels like a very long time for this.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-41">Her words were a cold bucket of water poured over Pam’s head. </span> <span class="s-42">The initial shock had worn off, unease settling in its place. </span><span class="s-43">This wasn't a meet cute. She'd been kidnapped and would do well to act accordingly. </span><span class="s-44">Pam’s eyes darted around the room. </span> <span class="s-45">A single metal door to her right, slightly ajar. </span> <span class="s-46">Its width exceeded the expanse of the largest part of her thigh. </span> <span class="s-47">No windows. She caught sight of floor vents, three to be exact, all the size of a commercial envelope. </span> <span class="s-48">Nothing that could grant her freedom. </span></p><p><span class="s-49">It was then that she felt it, or rather, heard it. </span> <span class="s-50">The silence. Her head was usually filled with the voices of plants that kept her company. </span> <span class="s-51">She'd grown accustomed to their chatter, relegating it to white noise at the back of her mind. </span> <span class="s-52">It had taken her some time, but she'd managed to make peace with their perpetual babbling. </span><span class="s-53">It was the constant reminder of who she was and more importantly, what she was fighting for. </span><span class="s-54">But for once, it was quiet. So strange, she thought. </span> <span class="s-55">Her head felt weightless, completely detached from her neck. </span> <span class="s-56">There was a wooziness creeping in, making it hard to keep her thoughts untangled. </span> <span class="s-57">What was wrong with her? How long had she been here? </span> <span class="s-58">Where was here? </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-58">How long had she been away from the sun? </span>
</p><p><span class="s-59">“I wouldn’t bother strategize. </span> <span class="s-60">There are no exits through which you can escape. </span> <span class="s-61">I suggest you get cozy, Ivy. Please, make yourself at home.</span> <span class="s-62"> I’m nothing, if not hospitable.”</span></p><p><span class="s-63">Pam gritted her teeth. The false sincerity in her tone was degrading. </span> <span class="s-64">As if she would fall for some cushy words and a leering smirk. </span></p><p><span class="s-65">“No? Did you want something to drink? </span> <span class="s-66">Water? Juice? Wine?”</span></p><p><span class="s-66">Pam took a moment to try and piece together why she'd pissed off this woman. </span> <span class="s-67">Perhaps there was the possibility of amending it. </span> <span class="s-68">They could all walk away alive, no hard feelings. </span> <span class="s-69">But even as she stared the woman down, no memory of her came to mind. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-70">“I promise it’s not poisoned. I wouldn’t do that to you.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-71">She didn’t have any visible weapons. </span> <span class="s-72">But if Pam knew her criminals—and she did, there would be at least two straps on her person, and one in the desk for backup along with several fully loaded, automatic weapons on each of her men. </span> <span class="s-73">And that was assuming all of them were human. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-74">“Alright, maybe you’re not thirsty but I kindly ask you to start talking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-75">“What do you want?” Pam's voice was stable, revealing no signs of fear. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-76">The woman’s smile widened.“You have taken something from me that you cannot replace.</span> <span class="s-77"> However, I’ve come to decide that you can repay me.”</span></p><p><span class="s-78">Ivy shook her head, biting back a chortle. </span> <span class="s-79">“If it’s money you want, I don’t have any.</span> <span class="s-80"> No sum amount you’d be interested in anyway.”</span></p><p><span class="s-81">The Italian woman rolled her eyes. </span> <span class="s-82">“You think I’d be so…shallow as to want money? </span> <span class="s-83">All this trouble for some cash?</span> <span class="s-84"> You insult me.”</span></p><p><span class="s-84">Pam should have known better. </span> <span class="s-85">The first clue was the diamond cuff bracelet dangling from her wrist that no doubt cost a fortune. </span> <span class="s-86">But the most expensive thing she sported had to be those blinding teeth. </span> <span class="s-87">The maintenance alone would have firmly set Pam in chapter 7 bankruptcy. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-88">“If it’s not money, then what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-89">“It’s simple really. A trade. I want a life for a life.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-90">Two decades of a quiet existence, far from the person she once was had rendered Pam’s memory hazy. </span> <span class="s-91">Even back then, she never had an affinity for killing, it was simply an unfortunate consequence of her line of work. </span> <span class="s-92">And to keep track of all the people she’d killed, either intentionally or inadvertently was unfeasible.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-93">“Who did I kill?”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-93">There was no point in sugar coating it. </span> <span class="s-94">Pam was sure they’d have evidence, if they’d go to these lengths.</span></p><p><span class="s-95">The woman dug into a drawer in the desk and pulled out a picture. </span> <span class="s-96">She slid it towards Pam.</span></p><p><span class="s-96">A man with his arm around a woman, both grinning into the camera. </span> <span class="s-97">Pam recognized the woman in the photo as the woman before her, perhaps twenty years ago. </span> <span class="s-98">The man that stood next to her however, she’d never seen.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-99">“I don’t know who that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-99">The woman snatched the picture back, staring at it for a long moment.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-100">“We were so young…” she murmured, her gloved finger trailing the edge of the photograph.</span> <span class="s-101"> “…So much promise, so much life to live…”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-102">She replaced the picture in the desk and sat forward, eyes trained on Pam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-103">“And you took it all away.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-103">Pam returned her heated glare. </span> <span class="s-104">There was no pleading her case, she could see that now. </span> <span class="s-105">The hatred in this woman’s expression was legible like text in a book. </span> <span class="s-106">She clearly cared for that man, and for whatever happened to him, this woman was hellbent on making Pam pay.</span></p><p><span class="s-107">The woman’s painted lips curled into a snarl, her upper body halfway over the desk.</span> <span class="s-108"> “I am going to teach you all the ways in which a human can suffer.”</span></p><p><span class="s-109">Pam could take it. She’d been through all kinds of torture, both physical and emotional. </span> <span class="s-110">At this stage in her life, Pam was—for all intents and purposes—numb.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-111">"Veni Ca." </span>
</p><p><span class="s-111">A man stepped forward with the proper obedience of a lap dog. </span> <span class="s-112">Now that he stood in her line of sight, she gave him a casual once-over. </span><span class="s-113">He was large, carrying more muscle than could possibly be efficient for his stature. </span> <span class="s-114">Pam guessed he was just under five foot nine, including the lift of his leather boots. </span> <span class="s-115">Strapped to his hip was a semi-automatic revolver. </span> <span class="s-116">Draped along his chest was a military grade assault rifle. </span> <span class="s-117">It was a bit much in Pam’s opinion and entirely unnecessary considering they outnumbered her. </span><span class="s-118">Still, she was a bit flattered that she could inspire this level of caution after so much time.</span></p><p><span class="s-119">As he moved to the woman's side, she caught sight of a scar on his neck. </span> <span class="s-120">The flesh had long healed but it wasn't like any scar she'd ever seen. </span> <span class="s-121">The discolouration was similar to that of a burn, but the lines were too crisp and clean. </span> <span class="s-122">With his shoulders back, it was easy to make out its shape. </span><span class="s-123">A star, with something dotted beneath.</span> <span class="s-124">It dawned that what she was looking at wasn't a scar, not in the traditional sense. </span> <span class="s-125">It was a brand. </span></p><p><span class="s-125">Had she been dropped into the Middle Ages, where forms of torture included rats gnawing on flesh and contraptions such as the Judas cradle were customary? </span><span class="s-126">For the first time since waking up, Pam felt a trickle of fear. </span> <span class="s-127">She glanced at the door. It looked awfully like the reinforced steel doors at Arkham, sporting a five-prong spindle lock. </span><span class="s-128">It wouldn't be easily cracked, she'd need the passcode if she had any hope of making it out with all her limbs intact. </span></p><p><span class="s-129">He presented her with a small metal case. </span> <span class="s-130">He unlatched the clips and tipped it towards her. </span> <span class="s-131">Her fingers entwined, placed beneath her chin as she nodded coyly. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-132">“This’ll do,” she said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-132">He set the case of the desk and pulled out a syringe, a four-inch needle attached.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-133">Pam's human instincts responded, her heartbeat pounding to a new accelerated rhythm. </span> <span class="s-134">Perhaps their plans for her were not quite medieval, but sadistic all the same.</span></p><p><span class="s-135">She was certain her toxic immunity would protect her and that there was no need for fear but, she wasn't in control of her automatic stress response. </span> <span class="s-136">She knew she could play this two ways, proceed without a reaction and perhaps they would leave her be. </span> <span class="s-137">Or, they could change their tactics, opt for enhanced physical torture techniques. </span> <span class="s-138">Her other option was to feed them the reaction they were looking for, even if it had no effect on her. </span> <span class="s-139">If the worse they could do was inject her with chemicals, she'd take it without question. </span></p><p><span class="s-140">With her mind made up, Pam shot to her feet, momentarily forgetting her ankles were bound together. </span> <span class="s-141">She would have tipped over , if it weren’t for the man behind her who'd grabbed ahold of her shoulder. </span> <span class="s-142">Pam squirmed in his grasp, grunting with the appropriate vigour. </span> <span class="s-143">The man with the needle approached, his expression grim. </span> <span class="s-144">His meaty hand took her by the thigh and with no hesitation, plunged the needle a few inches below her hip. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-145">“What the fuck was that!” She roared.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-146">He ripped out the needle before lifting his eyes to meet hers. </span> <span class="s-147">There was no remorse in the brown depths, simply a frigid vacancy. </span> <span class="s-148">In her mind, that was justification. They'd forced her hand.</span> <span class="s-149">Pam twisted her wrist so that her palm was facing up and grazed her fingers against the those of the man behind her. </span> <span class="s-150">It only took a few seconds of contact for the transfer of her toxin.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-151">“It was a concoction to make you feel more comfortable,” the woman said blithely from behind him. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-152">Pam held his gaze, leaning in to deliver her threat.</span> <span class="s-153"> "Try that again and you'll end up like him." </span></p><p><span class="s-154">The man behind her gasped then. </span> <span class="s-155">Pam didn't need to turn around to know what would happen next. </span> <span class="s-156">The dose she gave him would ensure his death was swift, although she wasn't sure he deserved to go so quickly. </span> <span class="s-157">He could stand to endure some prolonged anguish before he went. </span></p><p><span class="s-158">"What did you do to him?" The woman asked, no sense of anger in her tone. </span> <span class="s-159">She sounded perplexed and a bit fascinated but there was no concern for him in the way she spoke. </span> <span class="s-160">Clearly, she saw these men as dispensable. </span></p><p><span class="s-161">He began screaming then. His skin was enflamed with reddened bumps similar to hives. </span> <span class="s-162">They'd itch intensely as they spread but touching them would induce excruciating pain.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-163">"AIUTAMI," he screeched. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-163">She smirked at the man who stabbed her before turning to watch the show. </span><span class="s-164">He was on his knees, his face the color of opium poppies. </span> <span class="s-165">The shade of reds and purples blooming underneath his sweat-soaked skin indicated he was close. </span></p><p><span class="s-166">"What did you do?" The man who stabbed her repeated. </span> <span class="s-167">At least he sounded angry.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-167">"I did to him what I'll do to all of you if you don't let me go." </span>
</p><p><span class="s-168">The man collapsed, his trachea swollen shut. </span> <span class="s-169">He'd asphyxiate for a minute or two before falling unconscious. </span> <span class="s-170">It was a merciful death, almost like going to sleep and never waking up. </span></p><p><span class="s-171">"Noted," the woman replied. "We'll be sure to get you some more effective restraints.</span> <span class="s-172"> In the meantime, I do want you to know..." </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-173">She got up from the desk and smoothed her black pencil skirt. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-174">"That the life I'm going to take isn't yours. </span> <span class="s-175">Not yet, at least. I want you to be alive long enough to watch me take her from you." </span></p><p><span class="s-176">There was a knowing hint in her tone that prevented Pam's lungs from contracting. </span> <span class="s-177">The woman wore a small, pleasant smile as if she wasn't threatening to take away one of the most important things to her. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-178">“When I get my hands on her, you’ll wish I killed you instead.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-179">Pam's heart came to a near standstill. </span> <span class="s-180">The fear and shock she felt was openly displayed on her face, there was no point in trying to hide it. </span> <span class="s-181">It was one thing for this woman to threaten her, but quite another to threaten her florette. </span></p><p><span class="s-182">Satisfied, the woman walked to the door. </span> <span class="s-183">She pointed at the man who laid on the floor. </span> <span class="s-184">Two men appeared, seemingly out of thin air and picked up his limp body. </span> <span class="s-185">Pam couldn't move, the woman's words holding her hostage. </span></p><p><span class="s-186">It wasn't even possible, she'd been so careful! </span> <span class="s-187">Every step she'd taken, every measure put in place so that no one would find out. </span> <span class="s-188">She hadn't given birth in a swamp for nothing. </span> <span class="s-189">All that effort meant shit now. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-189">The woman bid Pam a wave of her fingers and stepped through the threshold. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-191">Finally, alone, Pam sprung into action. </span> <span class="s-192">She hopped around the desk and bent awkwardly as she pulled open a drawer. </span> <span class="s-193">They weren’t idiots, she knew she wouldn’t find an unlocked weapon but even a measly pen could make a difference. </span> <span class="s-194">As she peered into the drawer, she suddenly felt faint. </span> <span class="s-195">Pam leaned her hip against the desk, her whole-body trembling.</span></p><p><span class="s-196">Next to the picture the woman had shown her was a sheet of line paper. </span> <span class="s-197">In a large, loppy cursive was a single word.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-198"> KALMIA.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. IV - Kalmia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger Warning: Head’s up, this chapter deals with a moderately explicit assault. If that’s a trigger for you, please please please skip over it (I promise you’re not missing too much). Otherwise, happy reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kalmia</p><hr/><p>An Evening To Forget </p><p> </p><p>An hour of walking had gotten Kalmia across Trigate Bridge. Though pressed for time, she was in awe of everything around her. The varying shapes and colors of cars that drove by on the streets in their noisy, flashy manner held Kalmia’s attention captive. She stopped for a moment, allowing her toes to wiggle on the pavement. It was nothing at all like the sensation of soil between her toes. It was hard and cold against her soles and she had to be cognizant of every step in order to avoid glass shards and cigarette buds. There weren’t many people walking along with her on the pedestrian path. A younger woman, of similar height and hue had been walking west, towards Bristol and as she passed, Kalmia waved.</p><p>“Hello!”</p><p>The woman faltered, a frown sprouting on her face as she stared at Kalmia. Wordlessly, she took off, faster than before.</p><p>“A barbaric species, you are,” Blue said.</p><p>Kalmia shrugged, glancing over her shoulder. “Maybe she was in a rush.”</p><p>Finally across the river, Kalmia came to a stop at the docks of Miagani Channel.</p><p>On this side, there were quite a few more people. Kalmia's gaze bounced around, attempting to take them in all at once. Some people chatted with others, while others chatted with themselves. There were people of all different sizes and colors. People with animals on leashes and babies in strollers. The scene was nothing Kalmia's lacking imagination could fabricate and yet, it was everything she'd dreamed it to be. </p><p>“You’re drooling,” Blue said.</p><p>Kalmia wiped her mouth absentmindedly as she picked up the pace. She came to a stop at building branded with the word "Stagg" in bold. An elderly woman with a walker, slowly made her way from the front entrance.</p><p>Without a second thought, Kalmia ambled over to the woman.</p><p>“Hello!”</p><p>The elderly woman stopped just long enough to give her a funny look. Kalmia cleared her throat.</p><p>“Miss, do you know where I can find Blossom’s bakery?”</p><p>The woman huffed. “What do I look like to you? A map?”</p><p>Startled by her tone, Kalmia froze. The elderly woman pushed on, never looking back.</p><p>Before Blue could slip out a peep, Kalmia shook her head, staring after the gray-haired woman.</p><p>“Not a word.”</p><p>As she turned away from entrance, someone brushed past her, knocking into her arm. Kalmia stumbled, almost dropping Blue as he threw a quick “Sorry” over his shoulder.</p><p>Before he could get too far, Kalmia surged forward, grabbing him by the sleeve of his jacket. The man stopped, staring down at her quizzically.</p><p>“I need to know where Blossom’s Bakery is. Please!”</p><p>The man continued to look at her. His eyes travelled to where she grasped him and then back to her face.</p><p>“Blossom’s?”</p><p>She nodded as she released him. The man straightened out his sleeve and then reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small black device. He pressed a button at the bottom and the miniature screen lit up.</p><p>“Siri, directions to Blossom’s Bakery.”</p><p>Kalmia shot Blue a look. He had to be insane for talking to an inanimate object, she was sure of it that it, until the little black box replied.</p><p>“Searching. Blossom’s Bakery, located at 2250 Marshall Ave.”</p><p>He held up the box to his face, peering over his glasses.</p><p>“It’s about forty minutes east. You can take Dupont all the way down to Marshall and then you’ll make a left. It should be the second building on the left.”</p><p>“This street here,” Kalmia clarified, pointing down the road.</p><p>“Yeah. Look for a blue street sign…like that one,” he indicated to a sign posted on the streetlight. “When it says Marshall, make a left.”</p><p>Kalmia nodded. “Okay, thank you.”</p><p>The man offered her a weak smile. “Good day.”</p><p>And then he was gone.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>It had to be longer than forty minutes by the time Kalmia finally found the blue sign that read Marshall. Then sun was hanging so low in the sky, it was hidden behind the city's skyline. With the approaching darkness, a chill settled in the air and Kalmia wished she had worn more appropriate clothes instead of the grey shorts and green top she sported.</p><p>“We’re almost there.”</p><p>Kalmia was weary of cars, checking for traffic before darting into the street. On the other side, directly ahead, she could see a hanging sign with a flowery cake that read Blossom’s at the base. A burst of relief pushed her into a sprint. Finally, she had arrived.</p><p>Kalmia peered at the red brick building; her head tilted to a side. In the bay window, the lights were out and a neon sign hanging at the top read open. She bounded up the steps and reached for the door. She pulled but it didn’t give way.</p><p>“Don’t be rude. Knock,” Blue chastised.</p><p>Kalmia pursed her lips and rapped loudly against the door.</p><p>There was no response. She tried again, knocking louder.</p><p>How could this store be open if there was no one attending it? Kalmia shot Blue a worried glance and raised her hand once more.</p><p>There was a tap at the window that startled Kalmia. She stepped back, almost falling down the steps.</p><p>A woman with dark skin and large crown of curly hair appeared at the window.</p><p>“We’re closed,” she exclaimed, pointing at the sign.</p><p>Kalmia peered at the same sign that read <em>open</em> and shook her head.</p><p>“It says open!”</p><p>The woman huffed, her breath fogging up the glass. “When the light is off, we’re closed.”</p><p>She began to back away out of sight but Kalmia, descended the stairs, rushing towards the window.</p><p>“Please! I need your help!”</p><p>“And I can help you. Tomorrow. We open at eleven.”</p><p>The woman reached over and shut the blinds.</p><p>Panic flared through Kalmia as she darted to the glass, pressing her hands against the cool surface. She blinked languidly at her reflection, hoping she’d see someone else staring back. But the blinds never moved; the woman was gone.</p><p>“Don’t cry Kal, we’ll find her.”</p><p>It wasn’t until that moment that Kalmia felt the tears trailing down her cheeks. She hung her head over Blue, pushing her face into her petals.</p><p>“What are we going to do?”</p><p>“We wait. Tomorrow’s not that far away.”</p><p>Blue sounded so sure, as if time wasn’t a precious commodity they didn’t have. A whole day gone, and they weren’t any closer to finding her mother.</p><p>“I don’t know what to do,” Kalmia sniffled.</p><p>“Don’t be daft. We do exactly as Greenie said. We look for a park and spend the night there.”</p><p>Kalmia wiped her face and nodded. Blue was right, there was no point in dwelling over time lost. First thing tomorrow, they’d return and hopefully be one step closer to retrieving her mother.</p><p>She took a deep, calming breath and closed her eyes. Her muscles relaxed as she leaned back and listened. There were so many noises in the city, Kalmia found it hard to focus. It took her a minute, but she picked up on the faint cadence of maples.   </p><p>“A cluster of Norway Maples. They’re not too far.”</p><p>“God, maples,” Blue sneered.</p><p>“They’re not that bad,” she replied, as she walked them away from Blossom’s.  </p><p>“They’re a pretentious bunch, almost as bad as the Silvers. As if it didn’t take but a strong wind to knock them out.”</p><p>Kalmia chuckled as she side stepped a bulky trash bag. Night had descended and streetlights bathed the sidewalk in a yellow glow as the pair made their way through Gotham’s streets. There were far fewer people milling about than even an hour ago. Still, the roads were full of cars blinking and honking as they do.</p><p>“Blue you think after we find mom, we can spend some time sightseeing? I don’t want to leave the city without seeing The Wayne Tower.”</p><p>“Or Robinson park,” Blue offered.</p><p>“That too! Oh, and the Knight’s stadium. That newspaper article I read a while back stated it’s supposed to be huge!”</p><p>“Maybe she’ll let us stay an extra day.”<br/>Kalmia thought back to her mother’s words. <em>“The city isn’t all you’ve made it out to be.” </em></p><p>She was right, Gotham was better. Everything was so big and new. It was an endless chasm of possibilities and Kalmia was determined to uncover all that Gotham had to offer.</p><p>She slowed as they’d passed a shed. There were two people inside, chatting and smoking. A whiff of the smoke travelled to Kalmia and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.</p><p>“Yech, they smell so bad!”</p><p>Two heads turned to face her, their expressions sour. Kalmia shot them an apologetic glance and picked up the pace. So perhaps everything in Gotham wasn’t completely perfect. Some of streets smelled like the rotting corpse of a mouse Kalmia found in her garden and multiple people had given her strange looks as she passed by. Not to mention the lack of plant life! She could count all the trees she’d seen on both hands. It was a bit disheartening, seeing so many humans and so little greenery. It brought up the question that colored Kalmia blue. Could the city ever have a space for her? </p><p>“Looks like we’re almost there,” Blue said, pulling Kalmia from her thoughts.</p><p>They’d reached a building complex, made up of half a dozen concrete buildings designed in two rows. She could already see the treetops at the end of the alleyway. She gave her plotted plant a smile and hugged her tighter. Her fingers were numb from the cold and she had lost all feeling in her legs, but all things considered, Kalmia figured they were doing alright.</p><p>A low whistle rang out behind her. Kalmia turned, a bit startled by the noise and watched as a man approached her. His skin was the color of an aged Peppermint Willow’s bark and paired with all black clothes, he practically blended into the dark.</p><p>“Ayo!” He said as he approached, flashing a smile.</p><p>“He’s mistaken,” Blue said. “He doesn’t know us.”</p><p>Kalmia shrugged. “Maybe he needs help.” She returned his smile as he came to a stop, a meter in front of her.</p><p>“Hello!”</p><p>His eyes travelled up and down her body and he let out a note of laughter. “Damn.”</p><p>Kalmia wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Uh…Are you going to visit the Norway Maples too?”</p><p>The man hesitated, lifting an eyebrow. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about honey, but I want to go wherever you’re going.” She shrugged again. “I’m going to visit the maples. You’re welcome to come.”</p><p>He raised a hand to his chin, scratching the skin. “You on something lady? Out here, no shoes, in shorts, middle of the damn night, probably freezing ya tits off. Whack.”</p><p>Kalmia pulled a face. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand...?”</p><p>His eyes widened as his mouth formed into a “o”.</p><p>“You one of them mentally retarded huh?”</p><p>Kalmia’s jaw dropped. Even Blue was stunned into silence.</p><p>“I don’t mean anything by that, just never talked to one. Whatchu got? Albinism?”</p><p>“I think you’re confused,” Kalmia replied slowly. “I’m going to go now.”</p><p>As she began to turn, the man stepped forward, his hand out. “No wait, you wanna make some quick cash? Looks like you could use some.”</p><p>Kalmia looked down at Blue. Now that they were in the city, she’d probably need some money. Her mother always took her wallet when she left the house but, money could wait until after she found her mother.</p><p>“No thank you.”</p><p>The man laughed. “What? You rich or something?”</p><p>Kalmia shook her head. “No, I just don’t need any right now.”</p><p>Once again, the man looked at her with a strange expression. “I like you. You’re funny.”</p><p>“Am I?”</p><p>“I don’t like him,” Blue cut in.</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, you’ve got jokes. I’m sure I know some people who’d love to hear ‘em.”</p><p>Kalmia was mildly disconcerted but somewhat flattered. None of the plants at home found her funny. </p><p>“Thank you, mister, but unfortunately I don’t have any time to tell your friends some jokes. Maybe some other time.”</p><p>She gave him a final smile and began walking away. She only got a few more steps before the guy whistled again. This time, Kalmia was bit more reluctant to turn around.</p><p>“Here,” he said as he offered her his jacket.</p><p>Kalmia looked at him for a long moment. “Won’t you be cold?”</p><p>“Nah, I can handle it. Here.”</p><p>The man stepped forward and placed the jacket on Kalmia’s shoulders. It was several sizes too big and the fabric snagged on the thorns wrapped around her arms. But Kalmia was grateful, as the fabric was still warm from his body heat. She took a step back and placed a hand on her hip. </p><p>“How do I look?”</p><p>The man smiled. “Like a whole snack.”</p><p>She decided to take that as a compliment. </p><p>“Thank you, sir. Oh, and I meant it; you’re welcome to come with us to visit the Maples for the night. Blue here isn’t much of a fan but they’re nicer than you’d think. They’re just ahead, maybe—</p><p>The noise of a revving engine interrupted Kalmia. They turned just as a large black car pulled up to the curb in front of them. A bald man with sandy-colored skin jumped out and barreled towards the man in front of her.</p><p>“I been looking for yo ass,” He snarled.</p><p>The man who’d given her his jacket reached into the waistband of his pants and brandished a gun. Or at least, what Kalmia thought was a gun. She’d never seen one in person.</p><p>“Tell Law I had nothing to do with what happened yesterday,” he said, pointing the gun at the new man.</p><p>“Law told me you was there so who should I believe? Your trick ass or Law?”</p><p>He stepped in front of Kalmia, providing a physical barrier. “Eh man, fuck you!”</p><p>This new man was about two sizes larger than the other. His face, a picture of untamed rage made Kalmia's stomach churn. </p><p>“I hate to do this in front of your bitch, man…”</p><p>He never finished his sentence. The man darted forward, knocking the gun from his hand as they tumbled to the ground. The gun pirouetted through the air and landed about a foot from Kalmia.</p><p>“Take it!” Blue said.</p><p>Kalmia couldn’t tear her eyes away from the men as they tussled. They were a blur of movement and grunts and in the dark, she could hardly make out either of them. She hoped the man who’d given her the jacket could hold his own long enough for her to figure out a plan.</p><p>"Kallie!" Blue warned. </p><p>"Uh...Help!" She cried, the bass in her voice gone. As she opened her mouth to try again, a loud crack pierced the silence. The men stilled.</p><p>The angry bald man began to get up, while the other remained motionless. His head laid to a side, his eyes open, unblinking.  </p><p>It took seeing his slack expression to push Kalmia into action. She surged for the gun and held it up in one hand, the other grasping Blue. </p><p>“You shouldn’t of seen that,” the man said, now on his feet.</p><p>He spat on the ground, next to the dark puddle gathering at the man's head. Kalmia was suddenly freezing, every piece of her trembling. Her veins were lined with ice, her heart encased within a glacier. It was a new brand of cold, one that came from within. And it felt a lot like fear.  </p><p>“W-what did you do to him?” She asked, her voice small, barely audible to even herself.</p><p>“Taught him a lesson. What’s your deal baby doll?”</p><p>He spoke with a twinge of amusement, the corners of his lips hitched. His eyes travelled from her feet, trailing up her body and hovering at her chest. There was a glint of glee in the way his eyes crinkled while his smile expanded. It was as if he found their predicament humorous. As if he derived a sort of pleasure from hurting another person.   </p><p>He took a step forward as he thumbed his nose. Kalmia shook her hand, waving the gun. It nearly slipped from her frozen fingers. </p><p>“Don’t come any closer!”</p><p>It seemed impossible that his eyes, the color of Bat Orchids, darkened. “You working the streets? I’d like to be a customer.”</p><p>He might as well have been speaking in tongues for all that Kalmia could understand. His hands were raised, his palms facing her.</p><p>“I’ll make it worth your while.”</p><p>She stepped back as he took another step forward. “I want you to leave!”</p><p>"Now why can't we work out an agreement? You're not very good at customer service. Don't you know, the person paying is always right?" </p><p>Kalmia lowered her quaking finger towards the trigger. She couldn't feel the metal lever and wasn't entirely sure if it was the right way to discharge the gun. As her finger twitched, his expression fell, the amusement wiped clean.</p><p>"Hold o—</p><p>She squeezed her eyes shut as she forced her finger to curl. There was a click. Followed by a short silence that was interrupted with a bark of laughter. Her eyes opened and he was pointing at her, practically doubled over. </p><p>"You birds are dumb ass hell. Pro tip, baby doll. Always...check...the safety." </p><p>He moved so fast Kalmia didn’t have the chance to gasp. She felt the gun ripped from out of her hand as his body smacked into hers with a force that rattled her bones. Blue dislodged from her grip, flying off to a side as he slammed her body into the brick wall behind her.</p><p>Pain exploded in her head, causing her vision to go black. </p><p>Though blinded, she could still feel him, his hands on her waist, his breath on her cheek. Her head lolled to a side, bogged down with pain and entirely too heavy for her to support.</p><p>“You’re not usually type,” he said, his mouth at her ear. “Too boney but for tonight, you’ll do.”</p><p>His hands slipped further down, coming up in between her legs. Cold and slick, his fingers inched towards the junction at the height of her thighs. He pulled at the fabric of her shorts, ripping it with ease. She tried to bring her knees together as she wiggled against him but he shoved his elbow into her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs. The jacket slipped and as his hand grazed her shoulder, he jumped back, cursing loudly.</p><p>Kalmia fell forward onto her hands and knees, dry heaving. She began to crawl away when she felt a hand curl into her hair, pulling it. She screeched, her hands grappling for his.</p><p>“What did you do to me bitch?”</p><p>Despite his hold, she turned just enough to slam her forearm in his leg. His grasp loosened as he stumbled back. Kalmia swept her head around. Dizzy and coated in something wet and warm, she could barely see straight. By some miracle, she spotted Blue’s shattered pot, her soil spilled all over pavement. Her stomach squeezed, threatening to expel the little food she’d consumed earlier.</p><p>“Ah ah ah, I wouldn’t if I were you.”</p><p>Kalmia didn’t recognize the voice that spoke. It was heavily accented and was coming from behind her. She didn’t bother to look up.</p><p>“Walk away old man,” the angry bald man spat.</p><p>“And allow you to go on terrorizing others? Absolutely not. Ma’am are you alright?”</p><p>Kalmia couldn’t push out anything aside from her ragged breathing. She continued her way to Blue, her palms and knees scraping against the rough asphalt.</p><p>The bald man grunted. “I’ll kill you.”</p><p>“Is that a fact?”</p><p>Kalmia scooped up Blue in her trembling hands.</p><p>“B-blue?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” Blue replied. “We need to go, now!”</p><p>Kalmia struggled to her feet, a wave of nausea hitting her square in the face. She stumbled and regained her footing, bringing her head up.</p><p>She could see both men now. The man who’d attacked her was now laying prone on the concrete and there was an older man, gaping at her.</p><p>“Oh my,” he said, his eyes wide as saucers. Kalmia didn’t care for the man’s shock, she wanted only to leave.</p><p>“Wait!”</p><p>With unsteady feet, she took off. She caught sight of the man who’d given her his jacket and faltered.</p><p>“There’s nothing you can do for him now,” Blue reminded her.</p><p>Kalmia pursed her lips and headed in the opposite direction, too frightened to even look back. None of this could be real, she muttered to herself. It couldn't have been real.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. V - Alfred</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alfred</p><hr/><p>Better Left Buried</p><p> </p><p><span class="s-0">Alfred had a firm, steady grip on his temper's balls. </span> <span class="s-1">He’d manhandled anger, pushing the emotion into a locked box and burying it 600 feet underground at the bottom of the Atlantic.</span></p><p><span class="s-2">He wasn’t angry when his father used his last breath to have him promise to work for the Wayne family. </span> <span class="s-3">He hadn't been angry when he took on the mantle of guardian for a little boy who’d watched both his parents murdered. </span> <span class="s-4">He wasn’t angry when that little boy grew up and found an unconventional manner to deal with the corruption and madness of Gotham city. </span> <span class="s-5">And he wasn’t even angry that this particular git had made him late to his date with miss Leslie Thompkins.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-6">No, he wasn’t mad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-6">That is, until he saw her.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-7">A girl, drenched in blood, the spitting image of the late Martha Wayne. </span> <span class="s-8">Beautiful in the exact same way. </span> <span class="s-9">The same round doe eyes, the color of the grey seas he’d visited as a child. </span> <span class="s-10">The same pointed nose, with a bulbous tip. </span> <span class="s-11">The same heart-shaped face, rosy cheeks and all.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-12">Proper vexed indeed. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-12">Because in this particular instance, history shouldn’t repeat itself. </span> <span class="s-13">Not again. Not with her.</span></p><p><span class="s-13">The Wayne family had suffered so greatly. </span> <span class="s-14">So much more anguish than any one person should endure in a single lifetime.</span></p><p><span class="s-15">When Alfred’s eyes met hers; wide with fear and filled with tears, an anger so potent it nearly stifled him on the spot took ahold. </span> <span class="s-16">Alfred wondered if he'd just seen that same fear that a young Bruce had witnessed in his mother all those years ago.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-17">It was that thought that kept him in place, motionless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-18">Unable to spew his fury.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-18">And she took that moment of hesitation to slip away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-19">All that remained was Alfred’s anger.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-20">But anger was futile, Alfred knew it. </span> <span class="s-21">He loathed the emotion. It often made fools out of men.</span> <span class="s-22"> A young Mark Twain had put it best; “anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”</span></p><p><span class="s-23">Thankfully, Alfred's anger was also fleeting. </span> <span class="s-24">The moment she was gone, so too was his fury.</span></p><p><span class="s-25">He looked down at the fool rolling about on the pavement, muttering a string of senseless invectives. </span> <span class="s-26">He’d called the police the moment he heard her screams but for once, Alfred wanted to take the law into his own hands, deal with this punk on his own terms.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-27">He could already hear the sirens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-28">Not to mention, he had somewhere to be.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-29">It wouldn't do to show up bloody and bruised on a women's doorstep, no matter how much the wanker deserved it. Alfred didn’t bother a second glance as he stepped out of the alleyway. </span> <span class="s-30">He checked his watch. Twenty after. </span> <span class="s-31">He detested being late almost as much as he detested being angry.</span></p><p><span class="s-32">Alfred hurried back to his car. </span> <span class="s-33">He took the short drive to Leslie’s apartment and parked out front. </span> <span class="s-34">On the way there, he’d made up his mind.</span></p><p><span class="s-35">Three raps on her door and he stepped back. </span> <span class="s-36">The door pushed open and Alfred was met with a warm smile.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-37">“My apologies Dr. Thompkins. Tardiness isn’t a habit I intend to make.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-38">Leslie had already forgiven him, he could see it in her expression. </span> <span class="s-39">Perhaps that’s why she ran the clinic next to crime alley. </span> <span class="s-40">She possessed the ability to forgive, even for those who’d committed the most egregious of offences.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-41">“Not to worry. Although, I believe we’ve missed our reservation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-42">Alfred nodded. “And for that I will make it up to you another night.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-43">Now she appeared disappointed.</span> <span class="s-44"> “I don’t mind, we could go someplace else if you’d prefer.”</span></p><p><span class="s-45">He stepped forward, taking her hand in his. </span> <span class="s-46">He patted it lightly with the other.</span></p><p><span class="s-47">“Unfortunately, I do need to reschedule. </span> <span class="s-48">Something has been brought to my attention that requires immediate action.</span> <span class="s-49"> I hope you can understand.”</span></p><p><span class="s-49">Leslie smiled, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes.</span> <span class="s-50"> “Yes, of course.”</span></p><p><span class="s-50">He gave her hand a final pat before he released it. </span> <span class="s-51">Ever gracious, his Leslie.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-51">“Thank you, Leslie. I’ll be in touch.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-52">Alfred waited until she’d closed the door to bound down the steps. </span> <span class="s-53">He climbed back into his 1962 Aston Martin DB4 and took off. </span> <span class="s-54">He tested the speed limits, aware that the roads heading back to the countryside would be deserted. </span> <span class="s-55">He slowed down as the black wrought iron gates came into view. </span></p><p><span class="s-56">Alfred parked in the upstairs garage and made haste inside. </span> <span class="s-57">He turned the grandfather’s hands to 10:47 and slipped through the secret passage and down the multitude of steps. </span> <span class="s-58">After a quick survey of the empty cave, he lowered himself into Master Wayne's chair. </span></p><p><span class="s-59">In a few seconds he was logged in and pulled up the facial recognition software and got to work. </span> <span class="s-60">Thirty minutes of sifting through camera feeds, sealed GCPD documents and private files, Alfred drew to the end of his search, empty-handed. </span></p><p><span class="s-61">There was the possibility that Alfred’s ineptitude with computers was the reason he hadn’t been successful. He'd do well to swallow his pride and take a lesson or two from Master Drake...but a thought occurred to Alfred as he stared at the monitor. He was</span><span class="s-62"> entirely certain that if there had been a young woman walking the streets of Gotham, wearing the face of Martha Wayne, Bruce would have already known. </span> <span class="s-63">And it was highly unlikely that he would keep it to himself.</span></p><p><span class="s-64">Alfred closed all the tabs and logged out of the computer. </span> <span class="s-65">He stood up, stretching his shoulders.</span></p><p><span class="s-66">It was a figment of his imagination. </span> <span class="s-67">Be it stress or old age, Alfred had decided that he’d mistook what he’d seen.</span></p><p><span class="s-68">There was a slight movement in the periphery of his left eye. </span> <span class="s-69">After half a decade with the young Wayne, Alfred had gotten rather good at detecting his presence.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-70">“Did you need something Master Wayne?”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-71">Damian stepped out from behind a pillar, clothed for bed. </span> <span class="s-72">He had school in the morning.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-72">“What are you doing down here?” Damian asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-73">Ever the detective. He held back a comment about minding his own business and began his way to the lift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-74">“Chasing ghosts, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-74">He pressed the button and held open the door.</span> <span class="s-75"> “Hurry along sir, it’s well passed your bedtime.”</span></p><p><span class="s-76">The young Wayne made an irritated noise at the back of his throat, his face twisting in disdain. </span> <span class="s-77">“I don’t have a bedtime,” he muttered, joining Alfred in the lift.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-78">Alfred nodded, deadpan. "No sir, of course not."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. VI - Kalmia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kalmia </p><hr/><p>An Incitement </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="s-0">The kind man was dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-0">He was alive and then he was laying on the sidewalk, dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-1">Kalmia hunched further down, curling herself into a tight ball. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-2">He’d given her his jacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-2">And now he was most definitely dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-3">“This is why your mother never wanted us here,” Blue said. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-4">She wondered if he scared in those last moments? </span> <span class="s-5">Would he know what was happening? Or was death something like sleep—experienced but never felt?</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-5">“We should go back. Greenie was right, this place is hell.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-6">Would he blame her? He’d been the one to stop for a chat but if she hadn’t been so talkative, or if they hadn't been standing there for so long, or if she had turned away entirely...perhaps he’d be alive right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-7">“Tomorrow, right after we go to the bakery, we’ll go back home.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-8">Would there be someone out there that would come looking for him in the same way she was out looking for her mother? </span> <span class="s-9">A worried parent or a wife or friend? </span> <span class="s-10">A son or a daughter. Anyone. </span></p><p><span class="s-10">Kalmia pulled her head out from between her knees. </span> <span class="s-11">She was covered in blood, more so his than hers. </span> <span class="s-12">There was a sizeable gash on her forehead that had finally stopped bleeding. </span></p><p><span class="s-13">Her fingers trailed against her tear-stained cheek, smearing the blood. </span> <span class="s-14">Was this grief? She’d never had anything or anyone to grieve for. </span> <span class="s-15">It was a bizarre, hollow feeling that rattled in her bones in a similar fashion to guilt. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-16">“Kallie?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-16">She looked down at Blue, her exposed roots strewn about, bits of soil and debris clinging to them. If her mother had been there, she would have taken Blue in her hands and restored her vibrance with a kind smile and a soft touch. She would have taken Kalmia in her arms and said; "allow your tears to fall like droplets of rain and let the earth soak up the downpour of your pain." And then everything would be better. Her wounds wouldn't throb, her heart wouldn't ache, her lips wouldn't quiver, her soul wouldn't shake. </span>
  <span class="s-16">In that moment, Kalmia would have given anything for the remedy of her mother's comfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-17">"See there," Blue said gently. </span>
  <span class="s-17">“</span>
  <span class="s-17">That cloud looks like a bird.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-18">Kalmia didn’t bother to look up but she gave her small friend a smile. </span> <span class="s-19">With her eyes awash, she wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-20">“Yeah, Blue. It’s a bird.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-20">They were seated underneath a bridge, at the corner of the arch, away from the main road. </span> <span class="s-21">Midnight trains rattled the concrete, the loud noises prevented Kalmia from finding any sort of peace. </span> <span class="s-22">Under the cover of darkness, away from the street, she figured at the very least, she'd go unnoticed. </span> <span class="s-23">Until she saw a woman walking briskly along the sidewalk. </span> <span class="s-24">Dressed in a long black coat, her pale skin stood out in the darkness. </span> <span class="s-25">Her short raven hair blew in the wind. </span> <span class="s-26">The woman was at the edge of the bridge, about to disappear out of sight when she turned, staring directly at Kalmia. </span></p><p><span class="s-27">Their gazes collided and for a moment, Kalmia stared into a pair of curious emerald eyes before she dropped her head. </span> <span class="s-28">She could only imagine how she looked. </span> <span class="s-29">Probably feral. She didn’t need a mirror to know her hair was matted to her skin and sticking out in places or that her clothes were stained red and torn. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-30">"Hey you," she called out from where she stood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-31">"Ignore her," said Blue. "She could pose a threat."</span>
</p><p><span class="s-32">Kalmia kept her mouth shut but returned the woman's gaze. </span> <span class="s-33">With reluctance, the woman abandoned the sidewalk and trudged her way towards Kalmia.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-34">"Down on your luck?" she asked, coming to a stop at a meter's distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-35">Wordlessly, Kalmia nodded. The events of the last twenty-four hours definitely qualified as unlucky.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-0">"Look, you got somewhere to go?</span> <span class="s-1"> Someone I can call?" </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-1">The thought of the Norway Maples came to mind but that would require passing back through the alleyway and that was about the very last thing Kalmia wanted to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-2">Another shake of her head. The woman sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-3">"You can't stay out here kid, covered in uh…and barefoot." </span>
</p><p><span class="s-4">"Tell her to go away," Blue demanded.</span> <span class="s-5"> "The flesh covered heathens are not trustworthy." </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-6">Kalmia remained silent. Perhaps the woman would get bored and leave. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-7">"Y'know there's a clinic not too far that might have space for you.</span> <span class="s-8"> You don’t have to stay out here in the cold." </span></p><p><span class="s-9">The cold was the least of her problems. </span> <span class="s-10">In fact, she quite liked the way it made her head numb. </span> <span class="s-11">If she closed her eyes, it was almost as if the wound wasn't there anymore. </span></p><p><span class="s-12">"Okay, I get it. We don't know each other but I'm kinda trying out this new thing—a change of lifestyle if you will, and I think the proper term is uh, selflessness. </span> <span class="s-13">My uh…partner is notoriously selfless and if I'm being honest, the big oaf's converted me.</span> <span class="s-14"> So, looks like we've reached an impasse because I can't leave until you've gotten somewhere safe..." </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-15">The woman tucked her windswept hair behind her ears and folded to the ground, sitting with her feet splayed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-16">"…So it looks like I'm going to be keeping you company until then." </span>
</p><p><span class="s-17">The woman flashed Kalmia a smile and then leaned back on her palms. </span> <span class="s-18">To Kalmia, she seemed friendly. </span> <span class="s-19">The kind of person that would help someone in need, but her intuition had been wrong before. </span> <span class="s-20">The only thing she was certain of was that she didn't have it in her to fight if she happened to be wrong again. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-21">"I-I'm looking for my mom." Kalmia tested her voice, still raw from the strained use. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-22">A perfectly carved eyebrow rose.</span> <span class="s-23"> "Did something happen to her?" </span></p><p><span class="s-24">Kalmia shrugged. She didn’t want to think about all of the possibilities, most of which were downright terrifying. </span> <span class="s-25">If her mother had experienced even a fraction of what she'd been through…The mere thought brought tears to her eyes. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-26">"What's her name? Who knows, maybe our paths have crossed at some point." </span>
</p><p><span class="s-27">The name weighed the corners of her lips down.</span> <span class="s-28">"P-Pamela Isley."</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-28">The woman nodded once and then abruptly sat forward, blinking rapidly. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-29">"Your mother is Pamela Isley? </span> <span class="s-29">Dr. Pamela Isley?"</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-30">With her head tilted to a side, Kalmia nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-31">"Well, that explains the plant," the woman quipped. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-32">She began to get up and then stopped.</span> <span class="s-33"> "Say, do you know who your father is?" </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-34">"N-no. He's…dead." </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-34">The woman's eyes widened, and she pursed her lips into a thin line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-35">"Okay." </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-35">She got to her feet and looked down at Kalmia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-36">"Come on." </span>
</p><p><span class="s-36">Kalmia looked at the strange woman.</span> <span class="s-37"> "Pardon?" </span></p><p><span class="s-37">"I'm not leaving you out here so you're coming home with me.</span> <span class="s-38"> Plus, you've got a story that I'm dying to sink my teeth into." </span></p><p><span class="s-39">"We can't go with her! She could be leading us into a trap or maybe she works for the bald angry man.</span> <span class="s-40"> We should stay here, where its safe." </span></p><p><span class="s-41">Kalmia looked down at Blue and shook her head.</span> <span class="s-42"> "I think it's okay." </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-42">The woman clapped her hands, startling Kalmia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-43">"And you talk to plants! Oh, tonight's going to be interesting." </span>
</p><p><span class="s-44">She waved a hand, beckoning Kalmia as she made her way back to the sidewalk. </span> <span class="s-45">Warily, Kalmia unfolded herself and stood. </span> <span class="s-46">She gathered up Blue in both hands and slowly made her way down to the woman. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-47">"What's your name kid?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-47">"Kalmia." </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-48">"Kal-lia?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-48">She shook her head. "Kalmia. With an m." </span>
</p><p><span class="s-49">The woman nodded. "Kalmia. Kalmia Isley. </span> <span class="s-50">Huh. Who would’of thought?" </span></p><p><span class="s-50">They began walking down the block. </span> <span class="s-51">They reached the intersection when she realized she'd never gotten the woman's name.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-52">"What's yours?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-52">The woman flashed another smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-53">"Selina."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="s-53">***</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span class="s-0">"Welcome to casa de la Kyle. It's not much but we've got electricity and coffee. </span> <span class="s-1">But first, the bathroom is down the hall.</span> <span class="s-2"> Extra towels under the sink and you have to turn the faucet to the left for hot water." </span></p><p><span class="s-3">Kalmia peered around the apartment. </span> <span class="s-4">It was similar to the size of her house, but the layout was quite different. </span> <span class="s-5">To her left was the kitchen that spanned three quarters of the brick wall. </span> <span class="s-6">In the corner next to it was a square table, accompanied by two wooden chairs. </span> <span class="s-7">In the center was a large sectional seated in front of a tv. </span> <span class="s-8">Behind it, floor to ceiling windows, covered by navy velvet drapes. </span> <span class="s-9">A shag rug of a similar hue to the drapes covered the dark hardwood floor. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-10">And then there were the cats. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-10">Kalmia counted six. She peered down the hall just as a grey-haired waltz into the room. </span> <span class="s-11">Seven. The cat completely ignored Kalmia and strutted to Selina, weaving between her feet and purring loudly. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-12">“Hi baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-12">She bent down and scooped up the cat. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-13">“This is my Russian Blue, Cornelius. </span> <span class="s-14">The only creature of the male species that I'll let into my heart.</span> <span class="s-15"> Ain’t that right baby?”</span></p><p><span class="s-15">She rubbed her nose against his and then placed a chaste kiss on his head. </span> <span class="s-16">Cornelius purred as she let him down. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-17">“I’ve never met a cat before,” Kalmia confessed, staring at the small creature. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-18">“Is he nice?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-18">Selina chuckled. “Sure, and I never hooked up on a first date.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-19">Tentatively, Kalmia bent down and reached out her hand. </span> <span class="s-20">Cornelius raised his nose, sniffing. </span> <span class="s-21">His little tongue peeked out and lapped at his nose before he sat back, staring at Kalmia. </span></p><p><span class="s-22">“Wait, you’re serious, aren’t you?</span> <span class="s-23"> You’ve never seen a cat or any small domestic animal?” </span></p><p><span class="s-24">Kalmia straightened and shook her head.</span> <span class="s-25"> “Not unless you count pictures.” </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-26">Selina’s hand draped over her hanging mouth, her eyes round with disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-27">“Where’d you grow up again?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-27">“The forest at the edge of Bristol.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-28">Selina nodded slowly, lowering her hand. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-29">“Okay kid, you shower, and I’ll go make us some drinks—well make <em>me</em> a drink.</span> <span class="s-30"> Strong, very, very strong.” </span></p><p><span class="s-30">She turned and headed to the kitchen. </span> <span class="s-31">Kalmia carried Blue down the hall. </span> <span class="s-32">There were three doors, two of which were ajar. </span> <span class="s-33">The first, a small bedroom. The second was the bathroom. </span> <span class="s-34">Kalmia slipped inside and pushed the door shut. </span></p><p><span class="s-35">She placed Blue in the vanity and turned on the faucet. </span> <span class="s-36">Careful fingers dripped water onto her petals and stem. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-37">“How are you doing?” Kalmia asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-38">“I’m dry and I could use a sunbath.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-39">Kalmia cracked a smile. “Anything else, your highness?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-40">“Now that you mention it…I could use another pot. </span> <span class="s-41">As you are very well aware, I don’t like having my roots exposed.</span> <span class="s-42"> It’s indecent.” </span></p><p><span class="s-42">Her smile widened. “I’ll see to getting you some soil.</span> <span class="s-43">Damp, fertile and nutrient rich.” </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-43">“My favorite.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-44">As Kalmia raised her gaze, she was met with her reflection. </span> <span class="s-45">It startled her and for the tiniest moment she wondered who the hell was looking back at her. </span> <span class="s-46">But rationale was swift, reminding her that it was only but her reflection. </span></p><p><span class="s-47">She leaned in, her eyes trailing the contour of her face. </span> <span class="s-48">A patch of skin along her temple, red for the moment, would be purple by morning. </span> <span class="s-49">The gash was close enough to her hairline that if she pushed her hair in her face, it would be entirely covered.</span></p><p><span class="s-50">There were so many changes, so many things that made her look different. </span> <span class="s-51">But as Kalmia peered at herself, she realized that all those changes paled in comparison to the change she felt inside. </span></p><p><span class="s-52">There was a shift, a click like the turning of a key in a lock. </span> <span class="s-53">It imbalanced her, putting her off kilter. </span> <span class="s-54">She wasn’t sure exactly at what point it happened; it could have been as that elderly woman thoughtlessly turned her back on her or when the shop owner closed the curtain in her face. </span> <span class="s-55">It could easily have been when she heard the crack of a stranger’s head against the pavement or when he shoved his hands against her skin, bearing parts of her that weren’t meant to be shared. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-56">Not like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-56">And though, it felt like a small shift—hardly noticeable, in that moment, as her reflection stared back, broken and bruised, it felt ginormous. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-57">Less than twenty-four hours. That’s how long Gotham took to steal a piece of her soul. </span> <span class="s-58">The shift, the smallish, humongous shift was that of her spirit snapping under the pressure of the city.</span></p><p>
  <em> <span class="s-59">“Gotham City isn’t the place you’ve dreamed it up to be.” </span> </em>
</p><p><span class="s-60">It was the truth. Her mother had been right. </span> <span class="s-61">Gotham city was hell. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-61">But she’d be damned if Kalmia didn’t fight tooth and nail to take back what she’d lost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-62">Every last bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-62">Or die trying.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. VII - Pamela</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pamela</p><hr/><p>The 7th circle </p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="s-0">It had been hours. Or days. Pam couldn’t tell the difference in this god-forsaken, vermin-infested subterranean box. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-1">She was losing her grip. Knowing that Kalmia was out there, hopefully at home, waiting for her was driving her insane. </span> <span class="s-2">Because Pam knew her daughter like the ins and outs of pomology. </span> <span class="s-3">Even if her life depended on it, no daughter of hers would stay put.</span></p><p><span class="s-4">There was hope however, Swampy was usually good at dissuading her. </span> <span class="s-5">She could be with him, safe and sound. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-6">But there was a part of her, that feared for the worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-7">That her sweet, naïve little girl was somewhere in Gotham, roaming the streets in search for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-8">God, she hoped that wasn’t the case. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-9">She cut her eyes at the door. </span> <span class="s-9">Across six inches of reinforced titanium was her freedom. </span> <span class="s-10">So close, she could almost smell the co2. </span> <span class="s-11">But just far enough out of reach to taunt her. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-12">After she’d found the paper with her daughter’s name inscribed, she laid herself out on the ground and closed her eyes. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-13">Accessing The Green wasn’t the easiest task for Pam. </span> <span class="s-14">It required tremendous effort and focus. </span> <span class="s-15">It wasn’t as simple as animating plants to do her bidding. </span></p><p><span class="s-16">There was a hum, like a frequency in her brain that she needed to pick up on. </span> <span class="s-17">There had only been a few occasions in which she could hear the low cadence of the hum and merely tapping into it had sapped all of her energy. The composition of her body was mostly human, only a fraction was compatible with the elemental force.</span><span class="s-19">But she’d gotten better over the years, taming her practice down to a science.</span></p><p><span class="s-20">Still, she had her limitations. </span> <span class="s-21">Apparently, being several feet underground and riddled with concern was enough to sever her tie with The Green. </span></p><p><span class="s-22">Her thoughts travelled to another possibility. </span> <span class="s-23">It was improbable but she couldn’t help but ponder. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-24">Batman. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-24">His pursuit of justice could lead him right to that steel door. </span> <span class="s-25">He could be out there, at this very moment, formulating a plan of rescue. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-26">That was assuming he even knew that she’d been taken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-27">And why would he? Pam hadn’t spoken to the masked crusader in two decades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-28">Their last conversation rang loudly in her ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-29">“I’m leaving Gotham. I don’t want any trouble; I just want to go in peace.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-30">He regarded her; his expression hidden behind the cowl. </span> <span class="s-31">Pam had no way of knowing what he was thinking. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-32">“Why now?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-32">They stood at dusk next to the reservoir in Robinson Park, not too far from her hideout. Ivy</span><span class="s-32"> brushed her flaming red hair over her shoulder as she pursed her lips and dropped her gaze. </span> <span class="s-33">A move that usually made men and women fall at her feet. </span> <span class="s-34">As usual, Batsy was frustratingly immune. </span></p><p><span class="s-35 overDiv">“I’m tired. And I’m done. I feel like I’m waging a war against an indefinite army all alone. </span> <span class="s-36">I can’t keep hoping that I can fix things.</span> <span class="s-37"> They’re irreparable.” </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-37">“You’re giving up?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-38">She shook her head. “No, I’m giving in. </span> <span class="s-39">Let me. Please.” </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-39">He didn’t reply. There was a swish, a quiet movement of air and then he was gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-40">She left the very next day. And never looked back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-40">Save for the one day a year she ventured to the city to pick up Kalmia a gift and her birthday cake. She'd never been much of a baker and she wanted to give her daughter something special. Blossom's devil chocolate cake had always been her favorite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-40">God, she needed to get the fuck out of here. </span>
</p><p>A noise at the door lifted Pam from the floor. She narrowed her eyes as the steel door opened. </p><p>Scar-boy—she'd so affectionately dubbed—stood in the doorframe, sneering at her. </p><p>"It's that time," he muttered. </p><p>He pulled his hand from out behind his back and sitting in his meaty palm was another needle. </p><p>"NO!" </p><p>She began to scramble towards the corner of the room. It proved pointless, there was no escaping the hulk of a man. He stalked up to her and grabbed her by her arm. </p><p>"Stop resisting. It'll be easier for both of us." </p><p>Pam gathered all the saliva in her mouth and aimed for his right eye. The wad of spit hit him square in the nose. With his eyes closed, she drove her shoulder into his face, clipping his nose. She stumbled into him and fell forward. On her stomach she struggled to move towards the door. </p><p>"<em>Puttana</em>!" </p><p>A hand wrapped around her calf. Pam wiggled violently, hoping to knock him off his feet but he curled his fingers at the knuckles, tearing her flesh with his nails. She groaned and turned half around, squishing her hands on the floor. She drew the finest bit of satisfaction from seeing his bloodied nose. </p><p>"Fuck you!" </p><p>"You too!" </p><p>He plunged the needle into the back of her thigh. </p><p>"You're lucky I don't kill you." </p><p>Pam rolled back over onto her stomach. With her hands visible, she lifted her middle finger. </p><p>Scar-boy scoffed but didn't reply. There was the slam of a door and the click of the lock. Pam rested her face onto the cool concrete as a cockroach skidded by her head. She clamped her lips shut because if she dared opened them to scream, she feared she'd never stop. </p><p>Fucking hell.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. VIII - Kalmia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kalmia</p><hr/><p>Solitary City </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps, for every bit of bad looming out there in the world, there was a morsel of good simply lying in wait.That logic would explain the events that occurred since Kalmia arrived in Gotham. The jacket. The attack. Running for her life. The bridge. Selina.</p><p>Selina.</p><p>It was as if she’d materialized in the exact moment Kalmia needed her. Could it be fate, a stroke of good luck? Reparations? Whatever force had led Selina to Kalmia, she was indescribably grateful.</p><p>“You slept like the dead,” Blue said.</p><p>She was perched on the window sill in a glass Kalmia had taken from the bathroom. Morning had come too swiftly. Kalmia felt as though she’d closed her eyes for only a moment before she was awoken by the streams of sunlight on her face. With immense difficulty, she sat up. Ensnared in the claws of sleep, she was too groggy to pin point exactly where on her body the pain radiated but as she yawned, it was safe to say everywhere hurt. As she opened her eyes, she was caught off guard by a brown cat. It sat at the foot of the bed; yellow eyes trained on her.</p><p>“Hello.”</p><p>The cat shook his head and looked away. It stretched out its paws before curling back up into a ball.</p><p>“I’m in your spot, aren’t I,” Kalmia said.</p><p>She threw her legs over the side of the bed and climbed onto unsteady feet. Her hand shot out to the wall, bracing herself.</p><p>“I can’t believe I slept,” she murmured.</p><p>Kalmia was worried that her dreams would be plagued by the bald man who’d attacked her.She could picture his face so clearly when she closed her eyes. The overgrowth on his chin, the way his nose favoured the left side, the bulbous bags underneath his mean hazel eyes. It was all there, imprinted into the deepest-most part of her memory. She wouldn’t easily forget that face; twisted with triumph as his hands physically ripped away her sense of security. It wasn’t something easily returned either. But in a single night, Selina, the woman with two dozen cats and eyes the color of watercress leaves had returned to her a fraction of what she’d lost.</p><p>“Selina came inside earlier and left clothes for you,” said Blue.</p><p>Kalmia caught sight of a neatly stacked tower of cloth seated on the dresser. She walked over and picked up the item at the very top. A long grey turtle neck shirt with no sleeves. Beneath it was a pair of jeans.</p><p>“I guess this will work,” she said as she held it up.</p><p>“You humans waste so much time dressing up in garments that are unable to detract from your inherent repugnance,” Blue said.</p><p>The mild insult pulled a chuckle from Kalmia. “How would you know how revolting we are? You don’t have eyes.”</p><p>Blue huffed. “Why must you always bring that up? Yes, I may not have eyes in the traditional sense but, I don’t need them to know that your species is rather hideous.”</p><p>Kalmia peeled off the old t-shirt Selina had given her last night and slipped the turtle neck over her head. When she pulled down the garment, the hem reached the top of her knees.</p><p>“It’s a dress!”</p><p>She adjusted the collar and turned around.</p><p>“How do I look?”</p><p>“Well by human standards, I suppose you look alright.”</p><p>Kalmia reached into the pile and pulled out another item. It was a jacket, made from a rubbery black material. She ran her fingers along it for a moment, her thoughts drifting back to the first jacket she’d received.</p><p>“Blue?”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“I feel so…awful for leaving him there. Especially after that man k…”</p><p>The word refused to emerge from her mouth, dangling off her tongue as the memories replayed in her mind. </p><p>“There was nothing you could do,” Blue replied.</p><p>Kalmia shook her head, grasping the jacket in clenched fists.</p><p>“I could have helped! Or at least, I-I could have tried!”</p><p>Blue was quiet which was fitting seeing as there was nothing left to say. Kalmia had made up her mind, she bore partial responsibility for that man’s death. And it wouldn’t be right for her to sweep it under the rug. He deserved more than that. Kalmia pushed her arms into the jacket sleeves. The crown of thorns laid flush against her skin, allowing her to put on the jacket without any snags. She pulled the left sleeve back an inch looking down at the plant wrapped around her wrist. It had protected her last night, though she wasn't entirely sure how. She needed to find the time to figure out exactly what these thorns could do. </p><p>For now, she grabbed Blue from the windowsill and walked towards the door.</p><p>There were so many cats, Kalmia had to be careful of where she stepped for fear that she’d accidentally trample over one. She wove her way to the living room towards the sounds of banging cupboards. As she appeared, Selina whipped around. She wore an apron over her black robe, a smatter of flour on her cheek.</p><p>“Kal! How’d you sleep?” She approached the older woman as she whisked batter in a large bowl.</p><p>“Like the dead apparently. Thanks again for letting me stay the night.”</p><p>Selina waved her hand dismissively and put down the bowl.</p><p>“Don’t mention it. I thought I would make us some breakfast but cooking’s never been one of my strengths. I don’t even understand how I managed to mess up pancakes from the box! A feat really.”</p><p>Kalmia frowned, tendrils of guilt trickling down her throat.Selina had already given her more than she could have ever hoped. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me.”</p><p>“Stop that, it’s no trouble at all. Anyhow, if I plan on settling down someday soon, I should probably get my act together, learn how to do the whole domestic routine.”</p><p>“Domestic routine?” Kalmia asked.</p><p>Selina nodded. “Yeah, y’know. The cooking, the cleaning, the works. Although with B, I probably don’t have to worry about it. Speaking of, he’s stopping by at eleven so you’ll get to meet him.”</p><p>The word washed over her like a bucket of ice water. With so much on her mind, she accidentally jumbled up her priorities, forgetting the reason why she was even in Gotham.</p><p>“What time is it?”</p><p>“Half passed ten. I thought I’d let you sleep in.”</p><p>“I have to go!”</p><p>She began towards the door but Selina moved with incredible speed, jumping into her path and blocking her way out.</p><p>“What do you mean you gotta go?”</p><p>“Blossom’s! My mom! I need to get to the bakery by eleven.”</p><p>“Blossom’s…That’s over on Marshall right? Should be about a twenty minute walk.”</p><p>Hearing that she had ten minutes to spare calmed Kalmia's nerves. She wasn’t late.</p><p>“C’mon eat before you go, you’re about the size of a stop sign pole.”</p><p>Selina walked back to the kitchen and placed a plate stacked high with pancakes down on the table in the corner. She brought over a jug with maple syrup and utensils.</p><p>It wasn’t until she caught a whiff of the pancakes that her stomach growled ferociously. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate.</p><p>Tucked in the small nook, Kalmia dug into her breakfast. The pancakes were a bit lumpy and some were under cooked while others were burnt but, she was so ravenous that to Kalmia, the pancakes tasted of nothing at all.</p><p>While she ate, Selina fed her cats. She filled up a multitude of bowls and placed them on the floor. The cats swarmed the bowls, meowing as they went.</p><p>“Looks like you’re not the only one who’s starving,” Selina said with a laugh.</p><p>With her mouth full, all Kalmia could do was nod.</p><p>“Tell me,” Selina said as she sat down across from Kalmia. “What do you know about your mother’s life before you came along?”</p><p>She swallowed thickly and shrugged. “Not much. Mama wasn’t really candid about the past. All I know is that she was born in Seattle but grew up in Gotham and studied advanced botanical biochemistry at university. She did mention that people weren’t appreciative of her research and that made it difficult to fit in. But then, she met my dad and they fell in love and had me.”</p><p>Selina nodded. “Right, so you know nothing about your father?”</p><p>Kalmia shook her head and shovelled in another bite. “I know his name and how he died but that’s all.”</p><p>Selina leaned forward, hands pressed onto the tabletop. “Who was he?”</p><p>“Devin Conrad. He died in a car crash before I was born.”</p><p>There was a hint of disappointment that muddled her expression but Selina was quick, wiping her face clean in an instant. She nodded once, lips pressed into a firm line. “I’m sorry to hear that.”</p><p>Kalmia shrugged and set down her fork. She knew she probably should have been sad that her father was dead but they’d never gotten the chance to meet. It was hard to miss something she’d never had.</p><p>When she raised her gaze, Selina sported this faraway look that reminded Kalmia of her mother. Sometimes she’d catch the older woman staring out into space for whole minutes at a time, lost to the abyss of her mind. When she was young, she’d ask her mom what she was thinking about but her mother kept her thoughts closely guarded, never letting her in. It wasn't long before Kalmia realized that asking was pointless.</p><p>“I’m going to go, I don’t want to be late.”</p><p>Kalmia picked up Blue and as she did so, Selina sprung to her feet. Her body moved with such grace, a fluidity that seemed almost inhuman. Unable to tear her gaze away, Kalmia watched as Selina flittered to the kitchen. She reached into one of the cupboards and brought down a short, copper vase.</p><p>“For your plant,” Selina said as she handed it over.</p><p>Kalmia placed Blue on the table and took the vase with a grateful smile. She changed Blue over.</p><p>"Also, it won't do to have you running around the city barefoot. I found an old pair of Keds that should fit."</p><p>Selina carried over the shoes and handed them to Kalmia. She took them and slid her feet inside. They felt awkward and loose and cramped her toes together while the fabric rubbed against her skin.</p><p>"You have to uh, lace them," Selina said, a smile playing on her lips.</p><p>"Right."</p><p>Except, Kalmia didn't know how to tie the laces. The only thing she'd ever worn that could qualify as shoes were the yellow flip flops she outgrew at twelve. Her mother never bothered with shoes so neither did she.</p><p>"Here," Selina said as she kneeled at her feet. She tied the laces into two bows, showing her how to loop them into the knot. The shoes immediately felt tighter and it was then that Kalmia realized why her mother never wore them. They were cumbersome and ugly.</p><p>"Thanks," she forced her lips into a grin. She was already counting down the seconds until she could take them off. Awkwardly, she began towards the door.</p><p>“Kal?”</p><p>She froze, figuring Selina would make a comment about her aberrancy.</p><p>“I keep a spare key taped to the underside of the fire hydrant box out in the hall. Just in case you ever need a safe place to stay.”</p><p>It felt to Kalmia as though every move she'd made since arriving to the city had been the wrong one. Every street held a new choice, a new possibility. But every turn led her astray. Yet, despite every wrong turn, every bad choice, Kalmia wouldn't alter a single moment, no matter how dreadful. Because every action accumulated to meeting the woman standing before her. Her first real human friend. And that, she wouldn't ever change.</p><p>“Thanks for being selfless,” Kalmia said, her voiced bogged down with emotion.</p><p>Selina smirked. “Don’t go telling anyone. Can’t have anyone thinking I’ve gone soft. Take care of yourself, okay?”</p><p>Kalmia nodded. “You too.”</p><p><span class="s-0">She stepped out of the apartment, spotting the red box with a fire hose to her left. </span> <span class="s-1">A staircase was situated just ahead and Kalmia cautiously made her way down.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-2">“If only all humans were as courteous,” Blue said with a sigh.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-3">Kalmia shrugged. “Not all plants can be flowers.</span> <span class="s-4"> Some have to be weeds.”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-4">“You know very well I taught you that!”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-5">A bark of laughter sprang from Kalmia.</span> <span class="s-6"> “You’ve forgotten your own lesson then.”</span></p><p><span class="s-7">As she reached the landing a man appeared at the base of the stairs. </span> <span class="s-8">He climbed the first step and lifted his head. </span> <span class="s-9">Their eyes met. His, bright blue like a cloudless summertime sky, widened as his jaw fell slack, parting his thin lips.</span></p><p><span class="s-10">Kalmia wondered if she had something on her face and then remembered the laceration on her forehead along with the bruising on her temple. </span> <span class="s-11">She dropped her head, allowing her hair to fall in her face as she attempted to quickly ambled down the remaining steps. </span> <span class="s-12">Her new accessory caught on the tread of the last step, robbing her of her balance. </span> <span class="s-13">She tipped over, clutching Blue to her chest and prepared for impact but was met with something as sturdy as the floor, but softer. </span></p><p><span class="s-14">Peeking open an eye, she found herself being held up by the man. </span> <span class="s-15">He grasped her shoulders in his hands as his eyes bore into hers with a steaming heap of disapproval. </span> <span class="s-16">Shame pulled her chin to her chest, stealing her ability to meet his gaze. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-17">"Careful." </span>
</p><p><span class="s-17">His voice was deep and held a note authority that doubled her embarrassment. </span> <span class="s-18">The moment he released her, she surged towards the vestibule, stopping only as she reached the exterior door. </span> <span class="s-19">With a reluctant glance, she looked over her shoulder at the staircase but he was already gone. </span></p><p><span class="s-20">Kalmia stopped on the sidewalk and looked around. </span> <span class="s-21">The streets were alive with people heading one way or another. </span> <span class="s-22">She felt like a wayward ant having just made its way to a foreign colony. </span> <span class="s-23">A woman brushed passed her, muttering to herself and Kalmia stepped towards the building, out of the way. </span></p><p><span class="s-24">“Left,” Blue urged. “Across that way, towards the bridge and then around the bend.</span> <span class="s-25"> We’ll have to pass the alleyway.”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-26">Her heart ricocheted painfully against the walls of her chest and despite being outside, there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen to fill her lungs. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-27">There was no other option. She had to do it. </span> <span class="s-28">For mama. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-28">“Okay.” With a deep, steeling breath, Kalmia began her way back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="s-29">***</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span class="s-29">Keeping up the pace with the other pedestrians wasn’t nearly as easy as one would think. </span> <span class="s-30">No one walked leisurely. Everyone moved as if they too had a mother that needed saving. </span> <span class="s-31">Now that she wore more appropriate clothes, Kalmia found herself on the receiving end of far fewer strange looks. </span> <span class="s-32">It was nice, not feeling like an oddity, especially in a place that she found so strange. </span></p><p><span class="s-33">By the time she reached Blossom’s, Kalmia had worked up a sweat. </span> <span class="s-34">Upon passing the alleyway, Kalmia had decided the easiest way through was simply to run by, head down. </span> <span class="s-35">Blue had acted as her eyes, keeping her from running into multiple people. </span> <span class="s-36">This time when she walked up the steps of the bakery, the open sign in the window glowed blue and red. </span></p><p><span class="s-37">Kalmia tugged open the door and stepped inside. </span> <span class="s-38">There was a smell so divine, it wiped her mind clear. </span> <span class="s-39">It was sweet and nutty, mixed with vanilla and lemon. </span> <span class="s-40">Spanning the length of the room was a glass case that housed a wide variety of cakes and pastries, each more delectable than the last. </span> <span class="s-41">Despite having eaten a stack of pancakes less than a half hour ago, her stomach growled audibly. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-42">“Welcome to Blossom’s. How can I help you today?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-43">Kalmia approached the case where a young girl stood behind the counter. </span> <span class="s-44">She had rich dark skin similar to the woman she’d seen in the window. </span> <span class="s-45">Her hair was pulled back into a high bun at the top of her head and her brown eyes stared at Kalmia expectantly.</span></p><p><span class="s-46">“Hello. I am looking for someone.</span> <span class="s-47"> Pamela Isley.” </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-47">The girl scrunched up her face, her eyebrows drawn together. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-48">“This is a bakery, not a lost and found.</span> <span class="s-49"> What you’re looking for is the police station.”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-50">Kalmia shook her head. “No. No, I need to know if she was here yesterday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-51">“What did she come for?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-51">“A triple chocolate birthday cake.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-52">The girl lifted a thick book onto the case and began flipping through the pages. </span> <span class="s-53">She stopped and looked up. </span></p><p><span class="s-53">“I have a triple chocolate cake marked for yesterday but it was never picked up.</span> <span class="s-54"> Let me see…” </span></p><p><span class="s-54">She disappeared behind a door and Kalmia took a breath. </span> <span class="s-55">Nervous excitement welled up inside her chest at the prospect of seeing her mother soon. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-56">“Calm down,” Blue said. “You’re making me anxious.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-57">Kalmia smirked but didn’t reply. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-58">The girl reappeared, a familiar cake box in her hand. </span> <span class="s-59">She placed it onto the counter. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-60">“It’s right here. It’ll be twenty-eight fifty.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-61">Kalmia shook her head. “I don’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-62">The girl rolled her eyes. “The cake is twenty-eight fifty.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-63">It dawned then that she was talking about money. </span> <span class="s-64">Of which, Kalmia had none. </span></p><p><span class="s-64">“I don’t have any money but my mom she should have been here yesterday.</span> <span class="s-65"> She was supposed to pick it up and she didn’t come home and I think something really bad has happened so if you could tell me if she came in here or if you saw where she went mayb—</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-66">The girl cut her off with an irate click of her tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-67">“I don’t need your backstory. If you can’t pay for the cake, I can’t help you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-68">Frustration nestled itself on her skin, raising her hairs on end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-69">“Forget the cake! I need to know what happened to my mom!” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-70">The girl didn’t take kindly to Kalmia’s tone. </span> <span class="s-71">She fixed her a hard glare. </span></p><p><span class="s-71">“How the hell am I supposed to know what happened to yo’ mama? </span> <span class="s-72">If you can’t keep your family in order that sounds like a problem for someone else.</span> <span class="s-73"> Like I said before, there’s a police station for a reason.” </span></p><p><span class="s-74">“Please! I don’t know where else she could have gone,” her voice bordered on hysteric. </span> <span class="s-75">She clung to the last shred of hope she could muster. </span> <span class="s-76">Giving up now felt wrong, premature. </span> <span class="s-77">Kalmia opened her mouth to try again but someone spoke before she could utter another word. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-78">“What is going on in here?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-78">The girls turned towards the voice. </span> <span class="s-79">A woman approached and as she stepped through the doorway, Kalmia recognized her as the woman at the window. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-80">“You,” she remarked. “Came back early huh.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-81">Kalmia nodded. “I need your help!</span> <span class="s-82"> My mother was supposed to pick up my birthday cake but she never came home and this is the only place I can think of to look for her.” </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-83">“She ain’t got no money,” the girl said to the older woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-84">The older woman looked between the pair, the corners of her lips pointing downwards. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-85">“Alright I can handle this Bri.</span> <span class="s-86"> Why don’t you go ice those cupcakes?” </span></p><p><span class="s-87">The girl nodded mutely and headed through the door. </span> <span class="s-88">Once she was gone, the older woman turned to her, her face hardening. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-89">“Your mother, redhead, tall, likes to wear bright red lipstick?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-90">Kalmia nodded vigorously. “Yes!</span> <span class="s-91"> Have you seen her?” </span></p><p><span class="s-91">“She was here yesterday. She came in to pick up the order but she got a call and stepped outside.</span> <span class="s-92"> Never came back in.”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-92">That didn’t make sense. Her mother wouldn’t simply leave without her cake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-93">“Did you see where she went? Did she tell you that she had to go somewhere?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-94">The woman shook her head. “I make a habit of staying out of my customer’s business.</span> <span class="s-95"> All I know is that she came in but didn’t pick up the cake.” </span></p><p><span class="s-96">Kalmia placed Blue on the counter and pressed her hands to her head. </span> <span class="s-97">Her mind exploded with a thousand thoughts at once, all of them disturbing. </span> <span class="s-98">If she couldn’t find her mother here…then what? </span> <span class="s-99">Where could she go? This city was a puzzle and Kalmia didn’t have all the pieces. </span> <span class="s-100">How could she possibly put them together? </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-101">“Look, I’m sorry...I can’t help you.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-102">A somber sort of loneliness crawled into the vacated space in her head, dousing her reeling thoughts with despair. </span> <span class="s-103">Words were lost to her. Her tongue was too heavy to express her swelling misery. </span></p><p><span class="s-104">Blue was quiet, confirming what Kalmia already knew. </span> <span class="s-105">A silent sob tore from her throat, made up mostly of gasping air. </span> <span class="s-106">Her knees buckled, dropping her to the floor as tears leaked from out beneath her lashes. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-107">Never had she been surrounded by people and yet, felt so utterly alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-108">“Hey,” the woman spoke from somewhere above her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-109">Kalmia heard shuffling footsteps and then she felt a hand pressed gently to her back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-110">“The name on your cake...Kalmia, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-111">The woman took her hitched sniffles as a response. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-112">“Alright, Kalmia, I’m sure your mother is fine. </span> <span class="s-113">She’s probably somewhere safe. </span> <span class="s-114">Do you know anyone she was friends with?</span> <span class="s-115"> Anyone she relied on?”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-115">Kalmia shook her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-116">“No family in city?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-116">Another shake. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-117">The woman frowned. “Okay, is there anywhere you can go?</span> <span class="s-118"> Maybe wait for her there?” </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-118">She thought back to the fire hydrant box with a spare key and nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-119">“Good. How’s about this? Since it's your birthday, the least you can do is enjoy some cake.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-120">The woman walked back around the counter as Kalmia lifted herself off the ground. </span> <span class="s-121">She placed the box into a plastic bag and held it out for Kalmia. </span> <span class="s-122">With trembling hands, she took the bag, carrying Blue in the other. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-123">“I hope you find her,” the woman said with a strained smile. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-124">Kalmia nodded again and tried her voice. </span> <span class="s-125">She managed a hoarse rasp. “Thank you.”</span></p><p><span class="s-126">Outside, she was met with a cool breeze that marginally soothed the tight feeling in her chest. </span> <span class="s-127">Without checking the direction, Kalmia took off. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-128">“Where are you going?” Blue asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-129">“I don’t know.” Nor she did care. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-130">Kalmia moved at a near jog, shoulders hunched as she wove through the pedestrians. </span> <span class="s-131">She thought not of where she was heading—most likely further from the only friend she had in the city—but, of the probability of her seeing her mother again. </span> <span class="s-132">Gotham City was a monster, 783.8 km² of searchable land. </span> <span class="s-133">It wouldn't take years to sift through every nook, every alcove of Gotham, it would take decades. </span> <span class="s-134">And that was assuming that her mother was still in the city. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-135">"I don't like what you're thinking," Blue stated. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-136">Her options were few. She could return home, without her mother and hope that someday she'd return. </span> <span class="s-137">She could go back to Selina and enlist her help; the two of them forming a sort of search party. </span> <span class="s-138">Or, she could spend the rest of her birthday wandering the streets in despair and hoping that one of the faces she passed belonged to her mother.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-139">"Kallie?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-139">She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-140">"Stay out of my head." </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-140">"Your thoughts are unclear, don't do anything rash," Blue replied. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-141">She drew to an abrupt halt. "What am I supposed to do?</span> <span class="s-142"> Since you seem to have all the answers, give me some options Blue." </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-143">"Greenie could help us locate her." </span>
</p><p><span class="s-144">A humourless laugh echoed behind her frown. </span> <span class="s-145">"He already tried. And failed." </span></p><p><span class="s-146">"Have you so little faith in The Green?</span> <span class="s-147"> Swamp Thing may only be a vessel for the elemental force but as an avatar he's performed feats that your embryonic mind couldn't possibly conceive."</span></p><p><span class="s-148">She didn't need a lecture about the power Greenie possessed. </span> <span class="s-149">There were many nights he'd visit to tell her bed time stories of the battles he'd waged against the likes of Etrigan the Demon and Floronic Man. </span> <span class="s-150">She revered his position as a defender of the Parliament of Trees. </span> <span class="s-151">But for all the abilities he maintained, Greenie had fallen short when she needed him the most. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-0">"What's a female like you doing in this part of town?" </span>
</p><p><span class="s-1">The voice tore Kalmia from her thoughts. </span> <span class="s-2">It was as if she was waking up from a dream, disoriented by her surroundings. </span> <span class="s-3">She'd travelled down a side street and towards the part of Burnley that was far less populated. </span> <span class="s-4">The streets were narrow and lined with garbage. </span> <span class="s-5">The air smelled of sewage from the clogged gutters and most of the windows in the surrounding area were either broken or barred up with plywood. </span></p><p><span class="s-6">There were three men of similar height and build, standing huddled together in the umbra of a three story building directly ahead. </span> <span class="s-7">Cigarettes hung from their lips, their eyes narrowed in her direction.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-8">"You an op or something? Standing there looking mad sus."</span>
</p><p><span class="s-9">The one who spoke was shorter than the other two and a few shades darker than her. </span> <span class="s-10">He pulled out the cigarette with two fingers and spat on the ground.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-11">"You gon' answer me?" </span>
</p><p><span class="s-11">Kalmia whipped her head around but to her dismay, she was alone. </span> <span class="s-12">There were no old men to come to her rescue here. </span> <span class="s-13">She dropped her head, looking down at the cake she held in her hand. </span> <span class="s-14">For the first time Kalmia wondered if she shouldn't have left home at all. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-15">"Yesterday was my birthday," She said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-16">One of the guys clapped. "Congradu-fucking-lations." </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-17">"And my mother's missing and I don't know where to find her. </span>
  <span class="s-18">So today has been not that great for me. </span>
  <span class="s-19">Please don't make it any worse." </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-20">"She's on something," one of the guys muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-21">"Coke whore?" Another replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-22">"Nah she ain't twitching. You come to buy?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-23">"She ain't buying. Prissy bitch." </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-24">"Well then," the shorter one said. </span>
  <span class="s-25">He pushed back his puffy jacket to expose the hilt of a gun sticking out of his waistband. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-26">"Last time I'm asking. What the fuck are you doing here?" </span>
</p><p><span class="s-27">Kalmia sighed. She placed Blue and the cake at her feet and shrugged off Selina's jacket. </span> <span class="s-28">Like a reflex, the thorns stood at attention, sharp as a blade. </span> <span class="s-29">The men watched her tentatively, wearing expressions muddled with confusion. </span></p><p><span class="s-30">"I ran away from a mean man yesterday because I was scared but today's different.</span> <span class="s-31"> So if you truly want to do this instead of acting like civil human beings, then I won't stop you."</span></p><p><span class="s-32">The three looked between themselves and then began to laugh. </span> <span class="s-33">One of them pointed as he bent over, wiping his eyes. </span> <span class="s-34">The shortest one shook his head, his hand reaching for his waistband. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-35">"Crazy as hell." </span>
</p><p><span class="s-35">Before his fingers could graze the metal of the hilt, Kalmia felt an eruption of fury detonate from the base of her stomach, coating her entirety. </span> <span class="s-36">The injustice of her situation had reached its boiling point. </span> <span class="s-37">These undeserved assaults needed to stop.</span> <span class="s-38">She gritted her teeth, her heart slamming against the cage of bones in her chest. </span> <span class="s-39">She wanted them dead. All of them. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-40">"Straighten your arm," Blue said. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-41">She jerked her arm in front of her and thorns dislodged from the vine, shooting towards them. </span> <span class="s-42">It hit two of them in the face, a few thorns peppered over their chest. </span> <span class="s-43">The third guy was fast, ducking out of the way. </span> <span class="s-44">He stopped for a moment and looked down at his friends on the ground. </span> <span class="s-45">His hand curled around his own gun and when he turned back, pointing the barrel towards her, his eyes were round in disbelief. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-46">"What the fuck?" </span>
</p><p><span class="s-46">Kalmia felt no remorse. This wasn't a childish conniption. </span> <span class="s-47">This was justice. </span></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. IX - Bruce</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bruce</p><hr/><p>An apparition</p><p> </p><p><span class="s-0">There were precisely thirty-six tasks that could occupy Bruce’s time. </span> <span class="s-1">Twelve of which were critical and would require his attention at some point before nightfall. </span> <span class="s-2">The schedule he’d appointed for himself was rigorous and needed to be maintained. </span> <span class="s-3">His meticulous planner centred him, an anchor in the midst of his chaotic life.  </span></p><p><span class="s-4">Today, at 10:39, Bruce arrived at Selina's apartment. </span> <span class="s-5">He had been early on purpose, having stayed out all night after being interrupted by Gordon. </span> <span class="s-6">The commissioner had pertinent information on one of the several cases on his docket. </span></p><p><span class="s-7">Though he knew Selina understood his priorities, there was scintilla of guilt lodged in his throat from the moment he'd left. </span> <span class="s-8">So twenty extra minutes with her was the least he could do. </span></p><p><span class="s-9">There was a young woman descending as Bruce stepped into the stair well. </span> <span class="s-10">He looked down at his feet, a habit forged to make people—women especially, less anxious. </span> <span class="s-11">His imposing frame often put women on edge, particularly in closed confinements and Bruce didn't want to give her the wrong idea. </span></p><p><span class="s-12">He did notice the way she walked, her unsure feet wobbling with each step. </span> <span class="s-13">Like a fawn climbing onto infant limbs, she was sure to fall. </span> <span class="s-14">As she passed by, his gaze unintentionally pulled up. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-15">Bruce stopped breathing. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-15">And it seemed like everything else stopped as well. </span> <span class="s-16">She faltered to a halt as their gazes collided. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-17">Could it be?</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-17">No. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-17">But...she was identical. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-18">The next step she took went amiss. </span> <span class="s-19">Her ankle rolled and her body tipped towards him. </span> <span class="s-20">Bruce shot out a hand to grab her shoulder. </span> <span class="s-21">He was surprised to feel solid skin under his grasp, his imagination had duped him before. </span> <span class="s-22">There was no doubt now, she was real. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-23">Her eyes fluttered open, the stone grey hue with flecks of teal was indistinguishable from his mother's.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-24">Her pupils dilated, covering almost the entirety of her irises and a modicum of Bruce's sanity returned. </span> <span class="s-25">He withdrew his fingers quickly and straightened. </span> <span class="s-26">He had to say something, anything to quash her fear. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-27">"Careful." </span>
</p><p><span class="s-27">Crimson crept into her cheeks as she lowered her head, hiding that all too familiar face. </span> <span class="s-28">Without a word, she dashed towards the vestibule. </span></p><p><span class="s-0">Alone, Bruce inhaled, finally feeding his starved lungs. </span> <span class="s-1">He wanted to turn around, to follow her. A desperate need to know her story unfurled. Where had she come from and why exactly did she look the she did? More than anything, he wanted to know if the similarities between them stopped at her appearance. </span></p><p><span class="s-3">But he let her go. Chest heaving, he tore upstairs. </span> <span class="s-4">With every step of space he injected between them, the clearer his thoughts became. </span><span class="s-5">It wasn’t right, his excessive reaction was unwarranted. </span> <span class="s-6">Plenty of people share similar physiognomy, it wasn’t a stretch to believe that there existed some women that looked like his mother. </span> <span class="s-7">This resemblance however, was peculiarly uncanny. </span> <span class="s-8">It was in that brief moment when their eyes first met that Bruce was transported thirty years into the past. </span> <span class="s-9">Once again a child, unburdened by the tragedy that defined his life. </span> <span class="s-10">His mother, Martha, was in the parlour room listening to the likes of Jimmie Rodgers, Fats Waller and Duke Wellington. </span> <span class="s-11">Her hips swayed gently to the outdated tunes as a hint to the years she spent frequenting night clubs and soirees as a notorious socialite. </span> <span class="s-12">After stepping into motherhood, she firmly placed those days behind her but even time couldn’t strip her of her love of dancing. </span> <span class="s-13">At times, she’d close her eyes, raise her hands over her head and surrender her body to the melody. </span> <span class="s-14">Bruce loved watching his mother dance, the action so far removed from the regal homemaker she presented herself to be. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-14"><span class="s-15">And when her eyes opened and she caught sight of her young boy standing in the arch way, she’d offer a wide rouge smile and beckon him over.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-16">“Bruce love, come dance with me.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-17">It took Bruce nine seconds tame his pounding heart and slow his breathing. </span> <span class="s-18">Then he raised his clenched fist and rapped lightly against the door.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-19">“It’s open.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-19">He turned the knob and let himself in. </span> <span class="s-20">A grey tabby greeted him first, meowing as he closed the door. </span> <span class="s-21">He looked down at the small creature. </span> <span class="s-22">This one was new.</span></p><p><span class="s-22">“Sleep isn’t a suggestion,” Selina said, walking towards him in a black silk robe. </span> <span class="s-23">“It’s a requirement. One you’re no longer young enough to disregard.”</span></p><p><span class="s-24">Bruce shot her a pointed look, an eyebrow arched towards his hairline.</span> <span class="s-25"> “Are you calling me old?”</span></p><p><span class="s-25">Selina came to a stop beneath his nose. </span> <span class="s-26">Her familiar scent of clean cotton and warm orris root disarmed the tension in his posture. </span> <span class="s-27">His arms gathered her to his chest as he dipped his head.</span></p><p><span class="s-28">“Well,” she smiled, the tip of her nose tracing along his jaw.</span> <span class="s-29"> “You’re not getting any younger.”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-30">Bruce smirked. “I appreciate the reminder Miss Kyle.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-31">Her nose wrinkled, she wasn’t fond of him calling her by her last name. </span> <span class="s-32">Her hand came up and trailed a finger along his sideburn.</span> <span class="s-33"> “Why, is that a grey?”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-33">Her coy smirk disappeared as his lips feathered over her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-34">“You didn’t seem to take issue with my age last night.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-35">He waited for the red to creep into her skin as her breathing grew shallow. </span> <span class="s-36">Bruce was rather disappointed that their time together had been interrupted. </span> <span class="s-37">It seemed that lately, the couple could hardly find a minute to spare for one another and he was hoping that they could pick up from where they left off.</span></p><p><span class="s-38">Selina’s hands moved further up, tangling into his dark tresses. </span> <span class="s-39">Against her wishes, he’d cut his hair shorter. </span> <span class="s-40">It was easier to maintain.</span></p><p><span class="s-40">“Two options. We can delay this for a little while so I can tell you the most bizarre thing or you can take me to the bedroom.</span> <span class="s-41"> But we only have twenty minutes before I need to be on my way to Little Italy.”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-42">His mouth withdrew from the pillowy skin of her neck.“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-43">“I have an engagement.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-43">He stifled a groan. The inside of twenty minutes wasn’t nearly long enough for Bruce to fulfill every dark desire he’d hosted for the past few weeks. </span> <span class="s-44">What he intended to do to her body took time, hours at the very least.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-45">Bruce straightened, his voracious fingers slipping away from the appetizing curve of her ass. The expanding mass in his pants would have to wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-46">“Alright, what’s this bizarre thing?”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-47">Selina shook her head, her gaze drawing towards the floor. </span> <span class="s-48">“I hardly believe it myself. When I was heading home last night, I saw this kid shivering under the bridge two streets over. </span> <span class="s-49">The little thing was covered in blood and barefoot.</span> <span class="s-50"> But get this, she’s claiming to be Pamela Isley’s daughter.”</span></p><p><span class="s-51">Bruce blew out a low breath. It had been years since he’d heard that name. </span> <span class="s-52">The image of Pamela before she left Gotham was clear enough in his mind.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-53">“Pamela...had a human child?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-54">
    <span class="s-56">"So it seems. Not much of a resemblance though." </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-54">
    <span class="s-56">It would explain her absence. Although, Bruce had some trouble envisioning the woman he knew as a doting and attentive mother to anyone but her plants. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-54">
    <span class="s-56">"She let the child out into the night? Alone?" </span>
  </span>
</p><p><span class="s-54">Selina shook her head as she stepped out of Bruce’s embrace. </span> <span class="s-55">A cat wove between her feet as she crossed her arms.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-56">“No. Of course not.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-56">The was an edge of irritability in her tone that was uncharacteristic. </span> <span class="s-57">Bruce pulled open the file cabinet in his mind, sifting through memories. </span> <span class="s-58">It took him only moments to remember that Selina was once close to Pamela and Harley. </span> <span class="s-59">The three had dubbed themselves the City Sirens. </span> <span class="s-60">Pamela was once her friend.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-60">“Alright,” Bruce cleared his throat expectantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-62">Selina shook her head again. “She says her mother's missing. And though, I believe her...something about it isn't adding up. I don't know what but my senses are tingling.</span>
  <span class="s-64">”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-65">“For how long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-65">She shrugged. “I suppose since yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-66">“Less than forty-eight hours. That’s hardly missing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-67">Her gaze met his, whetted with a severity he didn’t understand.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-68">“Kal said that she came into the city and hasn’t been seen since. </span> <span class="s-69">You know that Pam had enemies, more than we can count.</span> <span class="s-70"> Is it so hard for you to suspend disbelief?”</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-71">“For argument’s sake, if she is missing, this wouldn’t be the first occurrence.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-72">Pamela had gone radio silent more than once in the two decades since they’d first met. </span> <span class="s-73">What could possibly make this instance different?</span></p><p><span class="s-74">Selina readjusted her robe, tightening the strap. </span> <span class="s-75">Bruce watched the probability of him getting beneath the piece of cloth dwindle to nothing in a mere few seconds.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-76">“You’re right. Once a criminal, always a criminal, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-77">Bruce shook his head. “That’s not what I said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-78">Her emerald eyes bore into his, her expression dour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-79">“Alright Bats.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-79">She was dismissing him, a mechanism she employed instead of voicing her feelings. </span> <span class="s-80">Her affinity for leaving things unsaid unsettled Bruce at the beginning of their relationship, especially since he wasn’t forth coming himself. </span> <span class="s-81">It often felt like there was a rift, a growing tide of all the thoughts they refused to reveal. It pushed them away</span><span class="s-81"> instead of towards one another. </span> <span class="s-82">After a few years, one would think they’d overcome this imprudent flaw.</span> <span class="s-83"> And yet…</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-83">“I’ll look into it,” he grunted. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-84">Bruce expected her to retort with something quippy or to brush him off completely. </span> <span class="s-85">Instead she grated the phalanges of her dominant hand along her the edge of her jaw—a nervous tick. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-86">He wouldn’t press her for information now, he’d much rather find out the answers for himself.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-87">“B?” She asked, her voice small, airy. </span> <span class="s-88">Some would mistake her tone for aloof but Bruce knew better. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-89">“Can you head over to Blossom’s Bakery?”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-90">Whatever it was that she was keeping from him, it had to be important. </span> <span class="s-91">She’d tell him when she was ready.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-92">“Okay.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-92">He closed the distance between them, slipped a hand beneath her chin and lowered his lips to hers. </span> <span class="s-93">His kiss was hungry, invasive and he wanted her to know that this was simply a precursor for later. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-94">“I’ll see you soon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p><span class="s-0">Bruce climbed into his Maybach Exelero and took off. </span> <span class="s-1">He’d plugged the bakery’s address into the GPS as he shot down the street. </span> <span class="s-2">A few seconds into the drive, his cell phone beeped. </span> <span class="s-3">Bruce pressed the hands free on the steering wheel. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-4">“B?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-4">Tim’s voice came through the speaker with an air of apprehension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-5">“Tim?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-5">“It’s his brother! Able? Yeah, he’s got a brother named Cain who’s calling the shots now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-6">“Hmm,” Bruce responded, making a left. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-7">The revelation was…biblical, but unsurprising. </span> <span class="s-8">He'd already reached his shock quota for the day. </span></p><p><span class="s-9">“There isn’t much about him on the web. </span> <span class="s-10">I found a few bank statements at National Bank but it was under an alias.</span> <span class="s-11"> Lawerence Thompson.” </span></p><p><span class="s-11">Bruce pulled to a stop at a red light. </span> <span class="s-12">The bakery was in view and he’d have to park street-side. </span> <span class="s-13">A car like this wouldn’t go unnoticed in this part of Burnley. </span> <span class="s-14">He couldn’t leave it alone for long if he wanted the car to be intact when he returned.</span></p><p><span class="s-15">“He’s smarter than his brother, having others do his bidding.</span> <span class="s-16"> I haven’t been able to locate his whereabouts but when I get to Gotham, I can get to work.” </span></p><p><span class="s-17">Bruce bit back a smile. This, of course, was Tim’s version of “not at work”. </span> <span class="s-18">A swell of pride crowded his chest. </span> <span class="s-19">He was aware that Tim had a tendency to second guess himself, but every day he proved himself evermore capable. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-20">“I’ll see you when you arrive.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-21">Bruce hung up. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-21">He parallel parked a few stores up from the Bakery and climbed out of the car. </span> <span class="s-22">He could already see onlookers watching him with dubious expressions. </span> <span class="s-23">Ever cognizant of his imposing being, he made haste towards the bakery but drew to a skidding stop. </span></p><p><span class="s-24">The girl he’d seen in the stairwell was rushing in the opposite direction. </span> <span class="s-25">Her short legs carried her quickly and Bruce shot a regretful look at the red-stone building. </span> <span class="s-26">Whatever Selina wanted in there would have to wait. </span></p><p><span class="s-27">He allowed her a head-start, putting a healthy gap between them as he followed behind. </span> <span class="s-28">He was glaringly aware that this was most-likely an unnecessary endeavour but with the chance to examine her unencumbered, he’d have to be a fool not to take it. </span></p><p><span class="s-29">The girl walked with her head down, her lips moving. </span> <span class="s-30">Perhaps she had an earpiece hidden beneath her auburn hair. </span></p><p><span class="s-31">She took a right, heading towards Gotham Heights. </span> <span class="s-32">B.T.M.’s home base was located a street over and had been mostly vacated since Able’s death. </span> <span class="s-33">GCPD did their best to police the area but it was hardly the roughest part of the city, they had other places to prioritize. </span></p><p><span class="s-34">Still, the air smelled of sewage, the streets were covered in garbage and people were indubitably impoverished. </span> <span class="s-35">Bruce knew no amount of money could be funnelled into fixing this area, not without risking gentrification and displacing thousands below the poverty line. </span></p><p><span class="s-36">He sighed, turning his focus to the girl. </span> <span class="s-37">She had stopped walking, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, near the junction of two dilapidated apartments. </span> <span class="s-38">Bruce spotted three men near the building, huddled together smoking. </span> <span class="s-39">He ducked behind a rickety fence, peering around the wood. </span></p><p><span class="s-40">The girl was talking, visibly upset. </span> <span class="s-41">Her eyebrows were knit together, her skin red and blotchy. </span> <span class="s-42">She’d been crying, there were tear stains on her cheeks. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-43">“…give me some options Blue.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-43">Her voice had risen in her frustration, garnering the attention of one of the guys. </span> <span class="s-44">He shoved his pal, nodding his head towards her. </span></p><p><span class="s-45">Bruce bristled, a growl forming in his throat. </span> <span class="s-46">She needed to leave.<br/>Now. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-46">But she stayed put, with an air of oblivion Bruce found astounding. Perhaps that where she got the bruises that decorated her forehead, from standing around in dangerous places alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-47">Stepping away from the building, the guys began their way over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-48">"What's a female like you doing in this part of town?”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-49">The girl was paying attention now. </span> <span class="s-50">She watched the three men with a weary apprehension. </span></p><p><span class="s-51">Bruce deliberated, weighing out the best time to step in. </span> <span class="s-52">He wanted every party to walk away unharmed which meant he’d have to move before weapons were drawn.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-53">“Yesterday was my birthday,” she said despondently. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-54">They didn’t care for her obvious sorrow, the man in the middle stepped forward. </span> <span class="s-55">He couldn’t have been a day over nineteen and no more than 150 pounds.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-56">“Congradu-fucking-lations.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-56">Classy gentlemen indeed. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-57">"And my mother's missing and I don't know where to find her. </span> <span class="s-58">So today has been not that great for me.</span> <span class="s-59">  Please don't make it any worse." </span></p><p><span class="s-60">It wasn’t a coincidence, this had to be Pamela’s daughter. </span> <span class="s-61">Though she bore little resemblance to her mother, it was feasible that she’d simply acquired her looks from her father. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-62">One of the men muttered something, probably derogatory but a thought crossed Bruce’s mind that made his palms slick. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-63">His relationship with Pam had been a tumultuous one. </span> <span class="s-64">Though he could sympathize with her intentions, her unlawful actions had placed them firmly on opposing sides. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-65">That did little to curb his attraction to her. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-66">He often chalked it up to her toxins, clouding the mind and stealing all logical thought. </span> <span class="s-67">But even so, Bruce couldn’t delude himself now. </span> <span class="s-68">It wasn’t her toxin that led him between her legs, he'd made that choice all on his own. </span></p><p><span class="s-69">It was foolish to think that this girl could be his, she had to be about fifteen. </span> <span class="s-70">The only time Bruce had slept with Pam was over seventeen years ago. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-71">And he'd used protection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-71">Bruce blinked, refocusing on the scene ahead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-72">"Last time I'm asking. What the fuck are you doing here?" </span>
</p><p><span class="s-73">He could see the gun strapped to his hip. </span> <span class="s-74">The girl—Kal according to Selina—placed down her plant and bag and began to take off her jacket. </span> <span class="s-75">For a moment, Bruce was both intrigued and troubled. </span> <span class="s-76">Then he caught a glimpse of the plants wrapped around the length of her arms. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-77">She possessed the same abilities as her mother. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-78">"I ran away from a mean man yesterday because I was scared but today's different.</span> <span class="s-79"> So if you truly want to do this instead of acting like civil human beings, then I won't stop you.”</span></p><p><span class="s-80">The guys broke down in laughter, too thickheaded to note the threatening tone laced into her words. </span> <span class="s-81">That was the voice of someone who’d grown callous, completely indifferent to consequence. </span></p><p><span class="s-82">The one with the gun didn’t get the chance to reach for it. </span> <span class="s-83">She thew her arm forward, shooting miniature spikes at them. </span> <span class="s-84">She took down two, the last had ducked out of the way. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-85">Before he could think better of it, Bruce was moving. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-86">He crossed the street towards them. </span> <span class="s-87">The last guy had pulled out his firearm but Bruce didn’t give him the opportunity to position it properly in his palm. </span> <span class="s-88">He barrelled towards him, knocking his forearm with his and flipping his wrist. </span> <span class="s-89">The gun flew from his hand and Bruce caught it midair. </span> <span class="s-90">He replaced the safety and unlatched the magazine, dropping it to the ground. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-91">The guy released a few banal curses, shot his friends a last look and then booked it. Spineless coward. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-92">Bruce would keep the gun, one less piece on the street. </span> <span class="s-93">As he turned, the girl was staring up at him, flummoxed. </span></p><p><span class="s-94">“Y-you’re…from the stairs.” Bruce looked down at the two men on the ground. </span> <span class="s-95">They were still breathing. Knocked unconscious in the fall. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-96">“Were you trying to kill them?” Bruce asked. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-97">The girl shook her head and then hesitated.</span> <span class="s-98"> “They’d tried to kill me.” That was a dangerous mindset, Bruce was all too aware of how that way of thinking could warp a person’s sense of morality. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-99">“That’s not what I asked,” he grumbled. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-100">He dropped into a crouch and grabbed the other firearms. </span> <span class="s-101">If they were found by the police at least they wouldn’t be caught carrying. </span></p><p><span class="s-102">“I didn’t mean to,” she said, in a rushed gasp.</span> <span class="s-103"> “I was upset and then I saw the gun and I—</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-104">She trailed off, a rainstorm raging in her grey eyes. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-105">Bruce straightened. “They’ll be fine.</span> <span class="s-106"> Should come to in a few minutes.”</span></p><p><span class="s-107">She lowered her head, staring at the plant and then nodded. </span> <span class="s-108">“Yeah,” she muttered. She turned back to Bruce.</span> <span class="s-109"> “Thank you.” </span></p><p><span class="s-109">Then she collected the plant and plastic bag. </span> <span class="s-110">She turned away, heading backwards and Bruce wondered if he should let her go. Forget the resemblance.</span> <span class="s-111">She wasn’t any concern of his. Not to mention, his schedule was packed, there was no need for him to add to it. But he needed more time. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-113">“Wait.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-113">She stopped, throwing a cautious look over her shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-114">“Are you hungry?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-114">Kal turned around, frowning.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-115">Bruce cleared his throat and continued. </span> <span class="s-116">“You look like you could use a pick-me up.</span> <span class="s-117"> There’s a cafe the next street over.” </span></p><p><span class="s-118">Her frown deepened and she shook her head.</span> <span class="s-119"> “I don’t have any money mister.” </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-120">He blinked, taken a back by the innocent confession. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-121">“It’s on me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="s-121">***</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span class="s-0">The cafe was filled with lunch time patrons. </span> <span class="s-1">They were seated at a small table in the back, next to the window. </span> <span class="s-2">Bruce slid the menu towards her as he pulled out his phone and checked the time. </span> <span class="s-3">Quarter to noon. He’d allow twenty minutes to indulge in whatever fascination he harboured and then they’d part ways. </span></p><p><span class="s-4">“Hi, welcome to Cafe Castro. I’m Mona, I’ll be your server, can I get you any drinks to start off?” </span> <span class="s-5">Bruce looked over at the girl, whose eyes were trained on a spot outside the window. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-6">He turned back to the server fixing a customary smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-7">“Hi Mona, I’ll have a black coffee.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-8">She nodded and jotted it down.</span> <span class="s-9"> “And for you.” The girl turned.</span> <span class="s-10"> “I’ll have apple pie please.” </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-10">She nodded. “Anything to drink?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-11">“Do you have prune juice?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-11">The waitress stuttered and shot her a strange look.</span> <span class="s-12"> “No.” </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-12">The girl shrugged. “Water is fine.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-13">Bruce waved the server off politely when she asked about food. </span> <span class="s-14">With his stomach in a gnarled knot, eating was the furthest thing from his mind. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-15">When they were alone, he clasped his hands together on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-16">“I’m a friend of Selina’s,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-17">Her head shot towards him, eyes focusing on him for the first time since they’d arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-18">“That…would make you B right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-19">“Bruce. Bruce Wayne.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-19">“Bruce,” she repeated in a quiet voice, mulling over the pronunciation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-0">He nodded.  Hearing his name from her mouth sent shivers down his spine.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-1">Of course, he’d remarked the subtle differences. </span> <span class="s-2">Her hair was more red than brown, her forehead slightly lower. </span> <span class="s-3">It was a given that his mother had been shapelier, she was well into her twenties when she had Bruce. </span> <span class="s-4">But granted the chance to meet his mother as a teenager, he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to tell them apart.</span></p><p><span class="s-5">Physicalities aside, Bruce's mother was more of a classic beauty, the bi-product of years in etiquette classes and two parents who held her at an abnormally high standard. </span> <span class="s-6">This girl had none of the refined finesse. Her hair was unbrushed, her nails caked with dirt and the clothes she wore were ill-fitting. </span> <span class="s-7">If his mother had been straight lines, she was wayward zigzags.</span></p><p><span class="s-8">She dropped her gaze and Bruce realized he’d been staring. </span> <span class="s-9">Shame coloured his face scarlet. </span> <span class="s-10">Alfred would deem his behaviour was ghastly.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-27">“One black coffee, an apple pie and a water,” Mona announced as she placed down the order. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-28">Bruce forced a smile, keeping his eyes off the girl. </span> <span class="s-29">He swallowed thickly, composing himself. </span></p><p><span class="s-30">“I overheard you speaking earlier.</span> <span class="s-31"> Your mother’s missing?” </span></p><p><span class="s-31">She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes cast on her plate. </span> <span class="s-32">She left the pie untouched and nodded. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-33">“Pamela Isley?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-33">Another nod. She looked over to the plant for a long moment and then rolled her eyes. </span> <span class="s-34">It had been so long since he’d seen someone communicate with plant life, it pulled a ghost of a smile to his lips. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-35">“I knew her, years ago.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-35">“You were her friend?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-36">The question was innocent enough but it was the way she peered up at him, unbridled ardor twinkling in her expression. </span> <span class="s-37">He didn’t want to watch her face crumble when he told her the truth, so he didn’t. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-38">“We were close once.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-38">A half truth is better than a lie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-39">She shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-40">His face pinched. “What was that?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-41">“Blue was just saying that you’re not trustworthy. </span> <span class="s-42">I disagree. If you wanted me dead you would have killed me earlier.” </span></p><p><span class="s-43">Her candor was startling. It was reminiscent of a child’s, too ignorant to know better. </span> <span class="s-44">Which certainly didn’t match up with the profile he was building of her in his head. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-45">“Rest assured, I have no intention to harm you.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-46">With a small smile, she picked up her fork and dug into the pie. </span> <span class="s-47">As she chewed, her eyes fell shut and she leaned back into the chair. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-48">“Good is it?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-48">She swallowed, eyes still closed.</span> <span class="s-49"> “It’s so sweet.” </span></p><p><span class="s-49">Bruce knew the food here was subpar at best but seeing her content kept his lips sealed. </span> <span class="s-50">Her naiveté was pervasive and for now, Bruce was happy keeping it that way. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-51">“I also heard it was your birthday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-52">She nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-52">“How old are you now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-53">“Seventeen.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-53">The coffee turned to acid on his tongue, searing the roof of his mouth and scorching his esophagus. </span> <span class="s-54">With his fist pressed against his mouth, he cleared his throat. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-55">“Are you alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-55">He disregarded the question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-56">“I happen to know someone that can help you.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-57">Her eyes went wide causing the skin of her forehead to wrinkle.</span> <span class="s-58"> “Truly?” </span></p><p><span class="s-58">This time he didn’t fight his smile. </span> <span class="s-59">“Yes. If your mother’s missing, we’ll find her.” </span></p><p><span class="s-60">She reached for the plant and plastic bag as she hopped to her feet.</span> <span class="s-61"> “We don’t have time to waste.” </span></p><p><span class="s-62">Bruce nodded and fished out his wallet from his inside pocket and placed a twenty on the table. </span> <span class="s-63">He stood, hand out for her to pass. </span> <span class="s-64">As soon as her back was turned, he grabbed the fork, slipping it into his sleeve, careful not to touch the prongs. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-65">“Shall we?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. X - Blossom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blossom </p><hr/><p>Hail Mary </p><p>
  <span class="s-0">$5,000.</span>
</p><p><span class="s-0"> That’s the amount of money Blossom owed at the end of the month. </span> <span class="s-1">The woes of owning a small business. </span> <span class="s-2">Making rent was once easy, back when she was working out of a small flat in the heights. </span> <span class="s-3">People there loved desserts. Blossom figured it was easier to digest the sugar when life was a little sweeter. </span> <span class="s-4">But then everything fell apart. </span></p><p><span class="s-5">Stupid gang wars. In this part of town, they were inescapable. </span> <span class="s-6">Pick out any person on the street, they either knew someone in a gang or they were a member themselves. </span> <span class="s-7">It was a way of life, a plausible way of making end’s meet. </span> <span class="s-8">So long as you didn’t get caught or clapped, you were good. </span> <span class="s-9">Since having to move her shop the Burnley, Blossom had to make a few changes that turned out to be detrimental to her business. </span> <span class="s-10">Customers didn’t appreciate the elevated prices or the smaller quantities. </span> <span class="s-11">Every night Blossom said her prayers and assured herself that her quality of work was unmatched and that fact alone could keep her doors open. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-12">Until it couldn't. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-12">She was drowning, the bills piled up to her ears. </span> <span class="s-13">There never seemed to be enough money, no matter how much she brought in for the month. </span> <span class="s-14">In desperate times, sacrifices had to be made. </span> <span class="s-15">Blossom had given up everything, hell her Toyota Camry was hauled off by some penny-pinching asshole who tried to swindle it for less than three grand. </span> <span class="s-16">The only thing Blossom had left was the knowledge that she’d never given in. </span> <span class="s-17">She’d fought with every ounce of her being, poured buckets of blood, sweat and tears into keeping her dream alive. </span> <span class="s-18">And she’d done that all on her own. </span> <span class="s-19">But then she received her notice. </span> <span class="s-20">Rent had gone up. $5,000. It wasn’t possible. </span> <span class="s-21">Staring at the piece of paper, Blossom watched her dream—her reason to breathe, flatline. </span> <span class="s-22">In a few weeks, there would be an eviction notice posted outside and Uhaul truck in the driveway. </span> <span class="s-23">All Blossom wanted to do was bake. </span></p><p><span class="s-24">On a rainy Thursday evening, sometime after five, a woman walked into the shop. </span> <span class="s-25">She had a man behind to her sporting a surly expression and holding up a black umbrella over her head as she stepped inside. </span> <span class="s-26">She was conventionally attractive, dark-haired, hazel eyes, a moderately curvy build. </span> <span class="s-27">A mole printed on her left cheek. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-28">“Hello, welcome to Blossom’s. What can I do for you this evening?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-29">She walked up to the case, her stilettos slapping the linoleum loudly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-30">“Oh that looks delicious,” she said as she pointed down to a chocolate éclair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-31">“I can wrap it up for you,” Blossom said with a tight smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-31">“That would be lovely.” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-31">Blossom got to work. </span> <span class="s-32">At the register she rang it up.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-33"> “$3.50.”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-33">The woman shot a glance behind herself and the man stepped forward. </span> <span class="s-34">He handed her a leather briefcase, that she propped onto the counter. </span> <span class="s-35">She unlatched the straps and turned the case towards Blossom. Stacks of c</span><span class="s-36">risp 100 dollar bills stared back at Blossom. </span> <span class="s-37">Gathered in neat bundles, there had to be at least thirty thousand dollars.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-38">“Do you take cash?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-38">Blossom raised her gaze slowly. </span> <span class="s-39">She kept a handgun in the drawer beneath the register for such instances. </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-40">“What is this?”</span>
</p><p><span class="s-40">The woman grinned, showcasing her pearly whites. </span> <span class="s-41">“I’ve come to make a transaction.” </span></p><p><span class="s-41">Blossom took another peek at the money before shaking her head. </span> <span class="s-42">“I don’t know what business you’re messed up in and I don’t care. </span> <span class="s-43">Take your money and go.” </span></p><p><span class="s-43">The woman’s smile never faltered but her dark eyes warned of imperilment. </span> <span class="s-44">Blossom had seen her type before. </span> <span class="s-45">This woman was used to getting her way and wouldn’t be pleased if contested. </span></p><p><span class="s-46">“I understand your apprehension. </span> <span class="s-47">Coming from a small town in the Southside of Italy, I know about dangerous places. </span> <span class="s-48">How they drain our humanity and harden us to stone. </span> <span class="s-49">But I believe it’s an invaluable experience, especially for us gals. </span> <span class="s-50">We toughen up, learn how to run with the big bad boys.</span> <span class="s-51"> I can tell you’re more stone than bone Blossom.” </span></p><p><span class="s-52">All the while she spoke, Blossom fingers silently crept the drawer open. </span> <span class="s-53">She kept her arms as still as possible and her eyes trained forward. </span> <span class="s-54">When her pointer digit grazed the cool metal, she pulled the gun against her palm. </span></p><p><span class="s-55">“All this to say, you and I are quite similar.</span> <span class="s-56"> And I can help you, if you’re willing.” </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-57">Blossom bit back a laugh. “You can help me?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-57">Somehow, her smile widened. </span> <span class="s-58">There was no mirth in her expression, simply a frigid soullessness etched into her even skin. </span> <span class="s-59">“But of course. I suggest a deal between two, good, God fearing women.” </span></p><p><span class="s-59">Blossom’s hand twitched. </span> <span class="s-60">“If I decline?” As she spoke the words, she yanked her hand from the drawer and shoved the gun in the woman’s face. </span> <span class="s-61">The man behind her had his own gun trained on her. </span> <span class="s-62">She cursed inwardly. The last thing she wanted to do was pull the trigger. Sugar and blood don't mix. </span></p><p><em><span class="s-63">“Calmati!”</span></em> <span class="s-63"> She barked. </span></p><p><span class="s-63">The man took his time lowering the gun. </span> <span class="s-64">For the first time since her arrival, her smile wavered. </span></p><p><span class="s-65">“Blossom I’d like to do this peacefully. </span> <span class="s-66">Men are often jumping the gun, moving faster than their brains can process. </span> <span class="s-67">Let us not be like them.” </span></p><p><span class="s-67">It wasn’t fair. </span> <span class="s-68">She’d done nothing wrong, stayed on the straight and narrow. </span> <span class="s-69">She aired on the side of caution, always. </span> <span class="s-70">She’d been the good Christian girl her mother brought her up to be. </span> <span class="s-71">All she wanted to do was bake! </span></p><p><span class="s-72">Her hand lowered, barrel still pointed at the woman. </span> <span class="s-73">She was untrained with the gun but not stupid. </span></p><p><span class="s-74">“Very well, I’ll get to the point. </span> <span class="s-75">You have a customer that I am interested in. </span> <span class="s-76">A woman, red hair, green eyes, about five foot six.” </span></p><p><span class="s-76">Blossom knew the woman, she’d frequented the bakery for years. </span> <span class="s-77">Never more than once a year but always on the same day. </span> <span class="s-78">She always bought the same cake; triple chocolate with a birthday inscription and never failed to leave a handsome tip.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-79"> “What about her?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-79">“I require one thing of you. </span> <span class="s-80">The next time she comes into this bakery, all I ask is that you give me a call.” She reached into her pocket and produced a burner cell. </span> <span class="s-81">She slid it on the counter. </span></p><p><span class="s-81">“That’s it?” It had to be a joke, who the hell goes out of their way to do all of this for one measly call. </span> <span class="s-82">The women nodded, fixing that devil smile in place. </span></p><p><span class="s-83">“That’s all. You make the call and poof—she splayed out her gloved hands for emphasis. </span> <span class="s-84">“You’re fifty grand richer.” </span></p><p><span class="s-84">The money was enticing, the offer sounded too good to be true. </span> <span class="s-85">Life had taught Blossom that pretty things don’t always shine.</span></p><p>
  <span class="s-86">“Have we got ourselves a deal?” </span>
</p><p><span class="s-87">In that moment, Blossom could only think about that damned piece of paper that held the future of her business. </span> <span class="s-88">It wasn’t fair that she had to contemplate going to these lengths just to keep her dream alive.</span></p><p><span class="s-88">“If I do this, I never see or hear from you again. </span> <span class="s-89">I don’t want to play any other part, this is a one and done.” </span></p><p>
  <span class="s-90">“Precisely.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s-90">With hesitant fingers, Blossom released the gun and picked up the cell phone. </span>
</p><p><span class="s-91">The woman beamed. “It was a pleasure doing business. </span> <span class="s-92">Buena Notte.” </span></p><p><span class="s-92">She picked up the éclaire and she and her lapdog left. </span> <span class="s-93">Blossom eyed the money warily, hoping to God that she hadn’t made a huge mistake.</span></p><p>But the sinking feeling in her chest, that pulled her heart to the base of her stomach said otherwise. </p><p>Blossom prayed that the redheaded woman would never come back. Every night she folded her hands together and closed her eyes and asked God to send that woman elsewhere. Another bakery in another city far, far away. A few months went by. And when the ground unfroze and the grey sky ceased its snowy assault, Blossom received a call. An order was placed for a triple chocolate cake. <br/><br/>There was nothing she could do, half the money had been spent, stretching to cover rent and the new equipment she desperately needed. She’d never admit to it but Blossom was grateful for the money, her saving grace. Her Hail Mary. <br/><br/>That gratitude turned sour on the last day of winter when a woman with hair like fire stepped into her small shop. She proffered a smile and warm pleasantries and Blossom went to the back to grab the cake. The phone shook in her palm as she dialled the only number listed. </p><p>It rang twice before the line was connected. <br/>“She’s here.” </p><p>That's all they needed. The line dropped and Blossom threw out the phone. When she returned, the woman held a phone pressed to her ear. She pulled it away for a moment, her eyes meeting Blossom's. <br/>“I need to step out for a second.” </p><p>Blossom wished she had the guts to tell her no. </p><p>Instead, she allowed the woman to go. And though she hoped with all her might that the woman would come back, unharmed, she never did. </p><p>With guilt so thick it obstructed her airway, Blossom returned the chocolate birthday cake to the freezer. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. XI - Selina</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Selina</p><hr/><p>Curiosity Killed The...</p><p> </p><p>Selina seldomly thought about the sum total of the debt she’d incurred. Years of burglaries, high stake heists and even petty thefts had to amount to a staggering number—one of which she had no intention to pay back. Ever.<br/>Some were necessary, stealing to get by having been a way of life when she was young. While other ventures were more… hedonistic.</p><p>It didn’t matter now, Selina had carefully tucked away her klepto tendencies in lieu of a life as a bullwhip totting, thrill seeking, cat cowl wearing vigilante. As the so-called mistress of the East End, she had a reputation to uphold. Although that wasn’t the reason why she drew to a reluctant stop for Kalmia.</p><p>There were nights, some twenty years ago, when Selina had taken shelter underneath that same bridge. Huddled in the same corner and braving Gotham’s brutal winter, a young Selina had secretly hoped that there would be someone who’d pass by and lend her a hand.</p><p>To the utter surprise of no one, there hadn’t been, which is probably why Selina found herself dressing up in a leather suit and prowling the streets at night.</p><p>However, Selina couldn’t have anticipated that a single altruistic moment could introduce her to an old friend’s daughter.<br/>Well, friend was a little inauthentic—optimistic, perhaps.</p><p>An occasional ally, a momentary confidant, was more accurate.</p><p>Their history was tumultuous; laden with mistrust, betrayal and several nugatory brawls. From the outside, it would seem that in all those years they’d never truly formed a cordial relationship.<br/>Selina knew they had. It was testy but true.</p><p>In the few dark moments when Selina had landed herself in a compromising position, usually staring down the wrong side of a gun, Pam had been there. Not always, but enough to be noteworthy. </p><p>So it only felt right that Selina be the one to find Kalmia, to lend her the proverbial hand. With her mother missing, Selina had no choice but to investigate.</p><p>She owed it to Pamela.</p><p>Selina took the conventional manner of transportation and hailed herself a cab. It didn’t take long, not with her body clad in a silk wrap dress and flashy trench coat.</p><p>“Where to Miss?” </p><p>“Robinson Park.”</p><p>There was a time when lying to Bruce was second nature. It was often easier than telling him the truth. The progression of their relationship had circumvented Selina’s lies, the ability to do so became inexpedient. After learning of the digital file, three inches thick, containing every fact about her life he'd compiled, candor was the only prudent option. Sometimes Selina wondered why she’d even bothered with the mask. There was so little of her that she could hide from him. Irrational as it may be, Selina felt his presence in every corner of the city, buried in every dark and dirty hole, branded on every skyscraper bearing his name. His reach was inescapable. The feeling was both comforting and unnerving; it made Selina want to pull him in closer in one moment and run for the hills in the next. <br/>What kept her on the side of sanity was the knowledge that she could leave at any time, that her freedom wasn’t actually in jeopardy. It was the reason she stayed and the reason she refrained from lying to him. Aside from today, that is. </p><p>Some thirty minutes later, the cab driver pulled up to the curb in front of the park’s main entrance. She handed the guy a few tens and climbed out.</p><p>Being midday, the park was bustling with people. Dog walkers and young mothers mostly, with the exception of a few homeless sleeping on and around benches.<br/>Selina hastened through the park, towards the junction of Finger River and the edge of the south-west border. Hidden amongst a dense thicket of trees was a small glass structure. As Selina closed in on the greenhouse, she half expected Pamela to pop out from behind a tree wearing a green-lipped smirk, fiery hair billowing around her.<br/>It wasn’t Pam she saw when she got to the door. Sitting on an old stone bench inside was the only clown she didn’t want to punch in the face. Most of the time. </p><p>“Kitty!” Harley purred.</p><p>Selina stepped inside, taking in the muggy smell of dirt, dust and old condensation. It had to be at least four years since she’d visited, not that there was a particular reason keeping her away. Selina figured if Pamela ever needed her, she’d reach out. </p><p>Harley bounced to her feet and threw an arm around Selina’s neck, her face leaning in close to hers.</p><p>“It’s been forever!”</p><p>Selina nodded slightly and eased herself from Harley’s grasp. “How you been?”</p><p>Unlike Pam, Harley required frequent checkups. Disaster in the form of unnecessary—and often gruesome—bloodshed would be sure to ensue if she was left to her own devices for too long. Trapped beneath the imposing weight of Waller’s thumb, to Harley’s displeasure, the only crimes she could commit were government sanctioned. </p><p>“You worried about me? Aww, don’t be. I’ve been taking care of myself.”</p><p>Selina took a moment to examine Harley. Beneath her prison-chic stripped jean shorts and red cropped leather jacket, her pale skin was mostly unbruised. Her bare midriff showcased a yellowish patch of skin that probably hurt like a bitch when the bruise was fresh. Other than that and a myriad of old scars, whatever she’d been up to wasn’t taking much of a physical toll. </p><p>“Right,” Selina replied. “I actually called you because I haven’t heard from Pamela. Have you?”</p><p>Harley twirled on her heel, leaning down to stuff her face in a bunch of flowers. “Red’s been quiet.” </p><p>“Are you concerned?” </p><p>Harley froze, her expression indiscernible for a moment and then she straightened abruptly, wearing a crooked smile. </p><p>“Why? Should I be?”</p><p>Selina perched herself against the bench Harley was sitting on earlier. “Apparently she’s missing.”</p><p>The crooked smile widened. “Missing? Just because she doesn’t come out with us any more or terrorizes Gotham with toxic spores doesn’t mean she’s missing.”</p><p>If there was one person Selina could count on to give a damn about Pam’s wellbeing it was Harley. Either she knew something Selina didn’t or she was lying. </p><p>“Well,” Selina mused. “Strangely enough, I met her daughter— </p><p>“DAUGHTER?” Harley gasped.</p><p>There it was. That wasn’t right. The stiffened posture, the squeaky inflection, the tight expression, none of it. Selina had witnessed Harley lie through her teeth on multiple occasions and to various degrees. She was good at putting on a show, leaning into the theatrics. But as a seasoned spectator, Selina could easily decipher truth from lie.</p><p>“Yes, daughter. As I’m sure you’re well aware.”</p><p>It was quiet as the two women faced off. Taking into account Harley’s volatile temperament, Selina was on edge. She hadn’t come to fight, but wouldn’t be opposed to handing Harley her own ass if need be. </p><p>“Ah nuts, you caught me! Of course I knew, she’s my best friend!”</p><p>The tension in Selina’s back eased as her lip twitched ever so slightly. It was undoubtedly juvenile, but she simply couldn’t help herself. With the most deadpan expression, she raised her gaze to Harley’s. “Oh, is that all?”</p><p>Harley leaned forward an inch, her limbs rigid and eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean? Huh?”</p><p>“Interpret that as you will. I didn’t come to talk about the sapphic nature of your relationship with Pam. When was the last time you saw her?” </p><p>Harley twirled a strand of hair around her index as she spoke. ”It’s been a while. I usually get a call from her at the end of winter. We meet up here actually. Only for a few hours though. I was on the phone with her yesterday when the call dropped. Although I thought she might have hung up on me because I brought up <em>he who must not be named</em>. But now that I think about it...it’s strange that she wouldn’t call back, even to check up on me. She’s usually so anal about that. Hmm…I wonder…”</p><p>Beneath a headful of fried blond hair, the gears in Harley’s brain were churning with a vigour that made Selina sit forward eagerly. She hoped that Harley was working out Pam’s whereabouts, coming up with a plausible explanation or potential suspects. Edward Nigma had been unusually quiet for example. </p><p>“She was at the bakery picking up the cake for the little shrub so...maybe she got distracted by all the pastries. Have you been to Blossom’s? Best freaking pastries on this side of the city. The chocolate croissant is” she bunched her fingers to her lips and blew a kiss. “Délicieux.” </p><p>Whatever minimal reserve of patience Selina harboured was rapidly dwindling. With her Harley-O-meter running low, she wasn’t sure of how much more she could take. </p><p>“Harley, I do not care a damn about the pastries. Focus.” </p><p>“Sheesh, alright! But you’re missing out. Anyway, if we want answers, we’ll need to go on a little field trip.”  </p><p>Selina wasn’t sure how much time she wanted to dedicate to this. The Bulgari watch on her wrist indicated fifteen after noon. Harley wasn’t great at getting straight to the point unless properly incentivized. She could only hope that the bond they shared was enough to dial back her injudicious ways. “Fine. Where?”</p><p>The sinister smile of unbridled ardency Harley sported resembled the joker’s in a way that sent shivers down Selina’s spine. It had been years since they’d been together and still, some things never change. </p><p>“This’s gonna be fun!” </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Here we are!” </p><p>An hour long cab ride had landed the pair in front of a rundown storage facility at the edge of Bristol. Situated at the furthest corner of the district, the storage garage was in direct opposition to the neighbouring country club and gaudy estates. Selina wouldn’t bother frequenting the area unless she was passing through on her way to Wayne Manor.</p><p>“What the hell are we doing here?” </p><p>Harley rolled her eyes and pointed at the rows of storage units as if it was blindingly obvious.</p><p>“Somewhere in there is Red’s stash.” </p><p>“You mean to tell me, you don’t know which one’s hers?” Said Selina, impatience sharpening her tone.</p><p>Harley shook her head. “Of course not! I know the general area but… well, they all look the fucking same! And Red only brought me here once, and that was like at least eight years ago.” </p><p>Colourful curses sat on Selina’s tongue, but she swallowed them down with a deep breath. </p><p>“Fine, let’s get this over with.”</p><p>“Don’t fret, I have a plan. Don’t you trust me, kitten?” </p><p>Selina bit the inside of her cheek to keep her treacherous lips from forming a smile. For as annoying as Harley was, Selina couldn’t deny how amusing she could be. Outwardly, of course. Hence the lackadaisical eye roll. “Not particularly.” </p><p>The front entrance led to a small brick box with grimy casement windows. The glass was too dirty to peer through, eliminating any chance of recon. Harley took no issue with the grubby state of the place and waltzed right in. Selina followed begrudgingly, careful not to touch anything.</p><p>The narrow, poorly lit room inside was strangely staged, with a few chairs haphazardly set up along the farthest wall. A coffee table sat a few feet away, too far for practical use. Directly ahead was the front desk. Harley turned to Selina and gave her a dramatic wink, lacking the necessary subtlety to be effective. </p><p>“Follow my lead,” she whispered. </p><p>Before Selina could object, Harley leaned over the desk, wearing a outlandish grin. </p><p>“Hiya!”</p><p>A man, mid-forties with shoulder length hair that had more grease than pan fried bacon looked up. Shock loosened his jaw as his little beady eyes travelled slowly from Harley to her and back. Crimson crept up his stocky neck. </p><p>“Uh… Yes?” </p><p>“It’s horribly unfortunate, you see, my friend and I seem to have forgotten the key to our unit and we came a long way to get here. It would be terrible to have to turn back around now that we’re here, so could you help us? Pretty please with a cheery on top?” </p><p>His gaze never reached past Harley’s neck, Selina was sure of it. He cleared his throat, nodded, and then cleared it again. </p><p>“Yeah, uh… unit number.” </p><p>Harley leaned forward a tad and pressed her arms together, amplifying her generous cleavage. The man’s tongue was practically dangling from his mouth. </p><p>“Oh, um… think you could just look up the name, actually?” </p><p>With great difficulty, the man managed to pull his eyes away from Harley’s chest long enough to look at his monitor.</p><p>“Name?” </p><p>“Pamela Isley.” </p><p>He typed it in and shook his head. “Nope, I don’t have a unit under that name.” </p><p>Harley shot Selina a quick look over her shoulder and then turned back to the guy, giggling coquettishly. “That can’t be right.” </p><p>Selina’s mind scrambled with plausible explanations. Harley could have been mistaken or perhaps Pam had moved her belongings elsewhere. It was entirely possible that the man was lying. He could have recognized Harley and deduced that she wasn’t Pam. Or...Pam was being careful, taking extra precautions.</p><p>Selina sidled up to Harley and threw an arm over her shoulders. </p><p>“This is what happens when we decide to have mimosas with brunch,” Selina drawled in a low, sensuous voice. “Your name is Paula Irving, you ditz.” </p><p>Harley’s eyes widened and she nodded. “Oops! Stupid me!” </p><p>They held their breaths as the man typed in the name. “Yeah. Paula Irving, unit 408.” </p><p>Harley let out a squeal as the man stood. He disappeared through a door behind the counter and returned with the key. </p><p>“Remember to bring this back once you’re done or we’ll have to charge you,” he said, licking his chapped lips. </p><p>Harley reached over and snatched the key from his palm before he could properly finish. </p><p>“Yeah, yeah. Got it!” </p><p>Taking Selina by the elbow, Harley skipped her way out of the lobby. The moment they were outside, Harley smirked. </p><p>“How the hell did you remember that?” </p><p>Selina shrugged. “It was an old alias she used.” </p><p>“It was in Batman’s file, wasn’t it?” </p><p>Selina wouldn’t confirm nor deny. But even if it was, it was nearly impossible for her to get her paws on his classified files regardless of her unique set of abilities. </p><p>Harley took her silence as an invitation to continue. “Speaking of,” she leered. “I’ve always been curious…how big is he, really? Here, tell me when.”</p><p>She started off small, leaving a few inches between her palms. Selina rolled her eyes and kept walking, carefully scanning the unit numbers with her lips glued shut. </p><p>Harley continued to insert space, a few inches at a time. She gasped, her eyes round as saucers. </p><p>“Okay, now I’m starting to worry,” she said, holding her hands out at about twelve inches. </p><p>Undeterred by Selina’s lack of response, Harley continued. </p><p>“Oh my god, is your cervix okay?” She whispered, genuine concern laced into her tone. </p><p>Selina sighed. “Are you done?” </p><p>“Are you able to walk after your dick appointments? How are you even walking now? Honestly, I’m kinda impressed. Your Cooter cat’s magic.” </p><p>There was a reason she hadn’t kept in touch. Selina desperately missed the five seconds prior when the mention of Bruce’s "equipment" had been nonexistent. </p><p>“Hell, if I had access to a man so well endowed, I wouldn’t be able to get enough. In fact, I’d probably be fu— </p><p>“Here!” Selina announced loudly. </p><p>She pointed to the unit, ever grateful for the distraction. Harley stepped forward, snickering. She took the lock, inserted the key and lifted the steel roll-up door. </p><p>The moment the door was up, there was a low hiss, hardly audible over the light wind. If it weren’t for her trained ears, Selina would have missed it entirely. Harley hadn’t picked up on it and stepped forward, triggering some sort of tripwire. With the few seconds she had, Selina snatched Harley by the hem of her leather jacket and yanked the two of them against the wall of the adjacent unit. </p><p>Green gas billowed from the storage opening, and Selina stepped further away, covering her nose and mouth with her sleeve. </p><p>“What’s she tryna do? Kill us?” Harley exclaimed. </p><p>“Safety precaution,” Selina replied dryly. She couldn’t fault Pam for being careful. </p><p>“Hmph, a warning woulda been nice. Look, you’ve wrinkled my jacket.”</p><p>Selina ignored Harley, watching the gas thin as it mingled with the wind. It took a few moments for it to evaporate and then Selina poked her head around, looking for the source. Having served its purpose, a now empty canister had fallen to the floor. Selina kicked it away, lest there be any more gas. </p><p>“Love what she’s done with the place,” Harley chirped as she stepped into the unit. The space was small, hardly large enough to contain a mid-sized car. There were shelves in the back, loaded with taped up boxes. A desk pushed into the corner, covered in journals and loose paper. Open boxes lined the walls and when Selina peeked inside the nearest one, found lab equipment. Test tubes and beakers, a few vials of an unidentified liquid. </p><p>“You think you can open this?” </p><p>Selina looked up to see Harley pointing to a safe, concealed beneath the desk. With some effort, she pulled it out. Selina crouched to the floor and examined the safe. A Honeywell electronic lock. Child’s play. She could crack it without breaking a sweat. Instead, she stood, giving way for Harley. </p><p>“How much you want to bet that the passcode is related to you?” </p><p>Harley gave her an incredulous look but her cheeks reddened nonetheless. </p><p>“I doubt it.” </p><p>“Loser has to pay for the fare home.” </p><p>Never one to back down from a bet, Harley looked down at the safety box. “I hope you brought cash.” </p><p>She squatted and typed in a few numbers Selina identified as her birthday. The box beeped red. </p><p>“Ha! Looks like I win!” </p><p>Selina wasn’t convinced. “Try again.” </p><p>Harley thought for a moment, her index tapping her bottom lip in contemplation. “Oh!” </p><p>She typed in another combination and sure enough; the box beeped green. Selina smirked. “Well, what was it?” </p><p>Harley shrugged, pulling open the little door. “Anniversary.” </p><p>Selina sunk her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from grinning. For the brief time when the three of them had lived together, Selina could hardly stand the quiet pining and longing glances of their unspoken love. She thought they made a great pair, they were just the right amount of crazy for one another. The friends-with-precarious-benefits set up they had going on irked Selina. Perhaps it was because it reminded her of her own dubious relationship with her bat.</p><p>“Money,” Harley groaned. “That’s it?” </p><p>No paltry sum. Stacks of bills. Selina didn’t want to know what Pam had to do to possess that much cash and she wouldn’t ask. Plausible deniability or whatever. </p><p>“So, we’ve got a science class equipment, a lock-box filled with money and no answers.”</p><p>“We do know that the last place she was at was Blossom’s before she went MIA.” </p><p>It was where Kalmia had rushed off to that morning, it was conceivable that she had already found out the answers they sought. If that was the case, they’d wasted their time on this fruitless endeavour. </p><p>“So why didn’t we simply go to Blossom’s?” </p><p>Harley reached into the safe and pulled out a stack. She straightened. “Because she uses this place to store her journals and junk. I figured it could be useful.” </p><p>Selina reached over to pick up a journal. Without much thought, she cracked it open. If Pam didn’t want them trifling through her stuff, she shouldn’t have gone missing. </p><p>“Plant oil biosynthesis...fungal pathogens...unless we plan on joining her botanist club, these journals are useless.” </p><p>“Alright so we go with your plan. Blossom’s is open until seven.” </p><p>There was only so much time Selina could dedicate to this. Though Pam wasn't technically her friend, she meant something to Selina. And Selina didn’t have a lot of people in her life that sincerely meant something. To lose Pam, after everything they'd been through, well...it was inconceivable. She glanced up at the sky, orange to the west as the sinking sun travelled towards the horizon. She planned to patrol tonight, but luckily the bakery wasn’t far from the apartment. </p><p>“C’mon.” </p><p>Harley jumped up, clapping and twirling. “I’m going to order like forty of the chocolate croissants!” </p><p>She slammed the money into Selina’s chest. “For the fare.” </p><p>Selina looked at the money and rolled her eyes. She tossed it on the desk and they locked up.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Blossom was a pretty, young Black woman with a warm and friendly demeanour. As Selina and Harley stood in her small shop, Selina wondered two things. The first being how incredibly strange she'd never visited the quaint shop, especially considering how close she lived. The second, a tad more pressing, was how the interrogation would proceed. She wanted to avoid violence at all costs, even if it meant they wouldn’t collect all the information they hoped to. </p><p>“What’s in those?” Harley gasped. </p><p>Blossom smiled politely. “Those are our huckleberry hand pies.”</p><p>Harley oohed and aahed appropriately. She already had the woman wrap up all the croissants in the case. Selina had allowed Harley to bounce around in delight while the other customers were served, but now that they were alone, Selina didn’t want to waste another moment more. </p><p>“Harley?” Selina stepped forward. “That’s enough.” Selina stood in front of Blossom, attempting her best to exude an air of tranquility and decorum. </p><p>“We’ll take the croissants. I also have a question for you, Blossom. A frequent customer of yours, red hair, 5 foot six, green eyes should have come by your shop yesterday.” </p><p>Selina didn’t need to know the woman well to pick up her subtle reaction. Fear flashed in her expression for no longer than a millisecond before she dropped her gaze, fiddling with the stack of wax paper bags next to the register. </p><p>“I have… many customers. It would take a miracle for me to remember every person that walks through my door.”</p><p>The way her voice shook, her jowls trembling, reminded Selina of Kal’s face as she looked down at her from beneath the bridge. </p><p>“I’m sure you do. She was only here yesterday. All we want to know is if you happened to see anything suspicious?”</p><p>She shook her head once. “I didn’t.” </p><p>Selina pursed her lips. “We’re not with the police, we’re not here to harm you, we simply need a yes or no.” </p><p>“I… I didn’t…” </p><p>Harley looked up from the case. “Bloss, can I call you Bloss? Look Bloss, you make killer croissants but your lying needs some work. How’s about you tell us what we need to know, so we can go our separate ways?” </p><p>Indecision was written plainly on her face. Selina could tell she wanted to do the right thing, to tell them the truth, but something—or someone had her too frightened. </p><p>“We’re friends of hers,” Selina assured her. “We only want to know what happened to our friend. Please.” </p><p>Blossom released a quivering breath. She looked towards the door as if someone was going to materialize and then shook her head. </p><p>“She came in yesterday but she was on the phone. She said she needed to take the call and stepped outside. She never came back in.” </p><p>“Did you see who took her?” There was a tightness in Harley’s tone that put Selina on edge. </p><p>Blossom shook her head again. “No.” </p><p>Harley leaned forward over the counter. “Are you sure, Bloss? I’m gonna need you to think about that before you answer.” </p><p>Selina saw it then, a slight tilt in Blossom’s shoulder. She was reaching for something—a weapon, most likely. She cursed inwardly. </p><p>“Let’s all take a breath,” Selina prompted. “Nice and slow.” </p><p>“I told you, I didn’t see what happened to her. But—</p><p>Harley leaned in further. “But?” </p><p>“But… a woman came in a while back and asked that I call the next time she came in.” </p><p>“What woman? What’s her name?” Harley badgered. </p><p>Selina placed a hand on her back, hoping to soothe some of her hostility, but in her experience, soothing an agitated Harley was like trying to calm a territorial Sphynx mid-attack. </p><p>“I don’t know, I swear. She never said it.” That was fair. If this woman was smart, she’d reveal as little about herself as possible. </p><p>“But… she gave me a cell phone. I threw it out because I didn’t want her to contact me again but I fished it out before it could go to the landfill… I don’t know why, I just…” </p><p>Selina nodded. “Do you have the cellphone?” </p><p>“Yeah. I’ll get it.” </p><p>She disappeared into the back, and Selina looked at Harley. “Can you chill? We discussed this. There is no good cop, bad cop here.” </p><p>Harley rolled her eyes. “I said what needed to be said in order to collect our information.” </p><p>Before she could reply, Blossom returned, holding the cellphone. </p><p>“If I give this to you, you won’t come back? I told the other woman, I don’t want any part of this.” </p><p>Selina nodded solemnly. “We won’t disturb you again.” </p><p>“Except for the croissants,” Harley interjected. “I’ll be back for more, probably early next week.” </p><p>Selina reached into her purse and handed the woman a fifty while Harley collected her pastries. Selina pocketed the cellphone just as the door behind them opened, a young mother walked in with her child. </p><p>“Thank you, Blossom.” </p><p>Blossom nodded, wearing a tight-lipped smile. “I hope you find her,” she whispered. </p><p>Selina returned the smile. “So do I.” </p><p>The two women left the shop. Selina asked Harley for her current address and quickly ordered an Uber. </p><p>“We should check to see if there are any numbers listed in the contacts,” Harley said, bits of masticated food flying from her lips. </p><p>Selina looked down at her phone. Thankfully, Owen would arrive in two minutes. </p><p>“I’ll get on that and let you know what I find.”</p><p>“She said a woman… what woman has beef with Red?” Harley asked. </p><p>It was a good question. Sure, Pam had her enemies—who the hell didn’t these days, but it was rather unusual for Pam to have pissed someone off to this extent. She could only imagine what had to have gone down between them. </p><p>The headlights of a Toyota hatchback came into view and Selina turned to Harley. </p><p>“Do me a favour and stay out of trouble until I contact you.” </p><p>Owen pulled up and Selina reached to open the door. Harley and her handful of pastries turned slightly. </p><p>“Don’t take too long, would ya? We don’t know what this bitch is capable of.”</p><p>Harley didn’t get scared often, in fact it was rare to see her as anything but jovial or apoplectic. But in that moment, in the depths of Harley’s blue eyes was an inkling of distress. </p><p>Pity welled inside Selina as she nodded. “I will.”</p><p>Satisfied, Harley climbed into the Uber. “Fuck yeah, I love this song!” She chirped. </p><p>Selina closed the door and watched the car peel away. She patted the outline of the phone in her jacket pocket as her eyebrows knit together. Now, the real work begins.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. XII - Kalmia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kalmia</p><hr/><p>New Places, New Faces </p><p> </p><p>The interior of a car was not at all what Kalmia expected. Although, her expectations were fabricated by children’s picture books, old newspaper clippings and fantasy fictions with scarce detail. She sat next to Bruce in a chair made of soft, plush material. Her eyes drew to the lights on the dash, the display animated with a blown-up map of Gotham city. Classical music emanated softly from the little holes in the door.</p><p>“What’s that?” She asked, as she pointed to the circles printed with little numbers and images, obscured by the wheel.</p><p>“Gauge cluster. Put on your seatbelt.”</p><p>Kalmia looked around for a moment, but before she could ask where it was, Bruce reached above her head and pulled on a strap made of dark fabric. He took the metal piece and buckled it into place. The strap sat snugly against her chest and waist.</p><p>“What does it do?” She asked.</p><p>“It’s a safety measure.”</p><p>He clicked his own seatbelt into place and then reached for the knob between their seats. The car began to move, and the strange sensation pulled a giggle from Kalmia. The car crawled along the main road for a few minutes, but as soon as they merged onto the freeway, the car picked up speed. Kalmia gripped the armrest in one hand, Blue in the other, and pressed her head forcibly against the headrest.</p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>The way Kalmia could best describe this new feeling was that her stomach had dislodged itself from her midsection and was plummeting southward. The swirl of nausea settling in her head forced her lips and eyes closed, only allowing for a weak nod in reply.</p><p>“We’ll be there soon.”</p><p>His assurance provided her little comfort. When she had drawn the small silver car all those years ago, she never expected her first ride to provide her with so much discomfort.</p><p>“Allow your body to adapt,” Blue chided. “You shouldn’t fault yourself for not feeling well.”</p><p>She planned to nod again, but there was an air bubble trapped in her throat. Kalmia opened her mouth and released a gurgled belch that tasted of soured apple pie.</p><p>“Hm,” Bruce said.</p><p>It was remarkable the way he shoved so much disapproval into a single syllable. Had her mother been there, she would have been green with envy. If compared, her critical tuts and wordless reproaches were amateur at best.</p><p>Without taking his eyes off the road, he reached into the compartment in front of her knees and produced a small paper bag.</p><p>“Here. Seal the bag’s opening over your mouth.”</p><p>Shame fought for dominance with her nausea. Whatever Bruce thought of her, he didn’t say, but Kalmia’s mind had no issue conjuring up a few possibilities. “What a strange girl. She can’t even sit through a single car ride. How embarrassing.” Reluctantly, she took the bag. Although she was determined to keep down whatever threatened to come up, if for nothing but to save a shred of her pride.</p><p>“There’s Gravol and I can crack the window if you’d like.”</p><p>She shook her head slightly and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve never been in a car.”</p><p>“I gathered as much.”</p><p>There was a hint of amusement in his tone, but when she peeked over, his lips were pursed into a fine line, his expression blank. He was every bit as intimidating as he’d been on the staircase. Kalmia wondered if he often frightened people upon meeting them. Everything about him was so...serious. She knew Greenie to reserve his smiles for rare occasions, but Kalmia wondered if he lacked the ability to do so altogether.</p><p>“That’s foolish,” Blue cut in. “Every human possesses the necessary musculature to smile. He simply chooses not to.”</p><p>“That’s fair,” she mumbled as she leaned her forehead against the window. The nausea had let up some, taking its time to slink out of her body.</p><p>“Your plant is talkative,” said Bruce.</p><p>Kalmia snorted. “You have no idea.”</p><p>“Do you have any other abilities?”</p><p>She looked over at him. “Abilities?”</p><p>“Aside from communicating with plants. Chlorokinesis for example.”</p><p>That was the term her mother used to describe animating plants to help out around the house. “Treat them well and they’ll be your greatest ally,” her mother had said. It seemed normal to Kalmia, watching her mother bring life to plants, but something about the way Bruce had phrased it made Kalmia think otherwise.</p><p>“Would it be bad if I did?” she asked tentatively. “It’s just... I’ve noticed that people in the city don’t interact with plants the way I do.”</p><p>“No. Everyone is different. Some, such as yourself, have unique abilities while others do not. It doesn’t make you inherently better or worse.”</p><p>“Do you have any special abilities?”</p><p>She hoped he did. It would make her feel like less of an oddity. The cabin grew quiet, Vivaldi’s concerto doing a poor job of filling the heavy silence between them. After a while, Kalmia figured he wouldn’t answer her. Perhaps he kept his abilities a secret. As she spied at him from the corner of her eye, she saw the faintest semblance of a smile.</p><p>“None like yours,” he said finally.</p><p>Neither of them spoke for the rest of the short drive. Bruce pulled to a stop in front of a large, grey-stone building adorned with rows of windows, at least twenty stories tall. Kalmia pressed her face against the glass and craned her neck to look up at the top. “Gotham City Police Department,” was inscribed in bold on a plaque above three massive columns.</p><p>Bruce’s hulking frame suddenly obstructed her view as he came to open her door. She unbuckled the seatbelt and stepped out of the car, clutching Blue tightly.</p><p>“This is what she was talking about,” Kalmia murmured, thinking back to the girl at Blossom’s.</p><p>“Yes,” Blue replied disdainfully. “It seems she was correct.”</p><p>“Who?” Bruce asked.</p><p>Kalmia shrugged. “When we visited Blossom’s, there was a girl who told us we should have gone to the police station to find my mom.”</p><p>He nodded wordlessly and headed towards the entrance. Kalmia had to jog to keep up with his long stride. They climbed the staircase and headed through a panel of glass doors. Inside, there were a few people milling about. The muted buzz of blended voices filled Kalmia’s ears as she looked around. Along the furthest wall were two flag poles bearing the American flag. Adorned in the center of the concrete wall was a large circle. “City of Gotham Police Department, Founded 1820.” In the middle of the circle was a bird with a scale above it and two strands of leaves beneath.</p><p>“Kalmia.”</p><p>The sound of her name jolted her from her thoughts. In her awe, she’d mindlessly stopped in front of the glass panels, barely across the threshold. Bruce stood several feet away, next to two metal doors. She scurried over. “Sorry,” she mumbled.</p><p>As she reached him, the metal doors pulled open. Bruce put out his hand for her to pass and Kalmia stepped through into a small boxy room. A few other people crowded in before Bruce.</p><p>“Floor?” One of the men asked.</p><p>“Twelve,” Bruce replied.</p><p>The man leaned forward and pressed a button affixed to the wall. It glowed a bright green, and then the small room lurched. Kalmia grasped the nearest object, which happened to be the man in front of her. As he turned around, Kalmia pulled her hand from his back. His oblong face was pinched in confusion for a moment but quickly dissolved as he offered her a smile. </p><p>“Claustrophobic?” he asked.</p><p>Chagrined, Kalmia shook her head. She caught sight of the same symbol she’d seen on the wall printed on his chest and shoulders. He had to be the police. He was who she needed to see.</p><p>“No,” Blue stated. “Look at his waist.”</p><p>Kalmia dropped her gaze to the base of his midsection. He wore a bulky black belt with little compartments. Attached to his hip was a slender pouch, and sticking out from it was the hilt of a gun. With a stifled gasp, she shoved herself against the wall behind her, attempting to insert as much space between them as the tiny box would allow.</p><p>His confused expression returned, accompanied with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows.</p><p>“Get ready,” Blue warned.</p><p>There was a ping that startled Kalmia, followed by creaking as the metal doors slid open. The man turned and said “G’day” to Bruce before walking out. The doors closed again, and Kalmia was alone with Bruce.</p><p>“You fear them?” He asked in a low voice.</p><p>A frown tugged at his lips as he regarded her. She shrunk back from him.</p><p>“They had guns!” She insisted in quiet disbelief. They’d both been in danger. Why hadn’t he been afraid?</p><p>“Not everyone who holds a gun intends to harm you,” he replied, his frown deepening.</p><p>She shook her head, dropping her gaze. “That hasn’t been my experience.”</p><p>The ping sounded again, and the doors opened. Bruce allowed Kalmia to step out first. “This way,” he instructed as he walked ahead. She followed closely behind, casting weary glances. People dressed up in all-navy and carrying guns were all over the place. A few people had their hands shackled behind their backs as they were escorted towards the metal doors. Kalmia couldn’t help but wonder if this was indeed the right place. The schoolwork her mother had provided didn’t breach the topic of police and now she sort of wished that she’d spent less time learning plant taxonomy and Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier, and more time learning about the inner-workings of Gotham. </p><p>“This is what your mother meant,” Blue said, cutting through her thoughts. “These humans are dangerous.” </p><p>They certainly appeared so. Bruce drew to a sudden stop, causing Kalmia to bump into his back.</p><p>“Sorry,” she mumbled again. </p><p>They stood in front of a large, black marble desk. A woman with short red hair, pulled into pigtails and wearing wire-rimmed glasses looked up.</p><p>“Hello Stacy.”</p><p>Bruce’s tone had changed drastically, causing Kalmia to shoot him a glance. His voice had dropped an octave and he spoke with a feathery light timbre. But more than that, he wore a smirk, his blue eyes intent on her. The woman’s olive skin turned a color similar to her bright red lipstick as she offered a breathy chuckle.</p><p>“Mr. Wayne. What brings you in?”</p><p>“I was hoping to speak with the commissioner. Is he available?”</p><p>The woman didn’t reply at first, too busy studying Bruce’s face. Kalmia wondered if she too was intimidated by him.</p><p>“Uh...yes. Well, actually he’s on break right now, but he’ll be back in a few minutes. If you don’t mind waiting.”</p><p>Bruce glanced at his wrist and nodded. “We’ll wait. Thank you, Stacy.”</p><p>He moved away from the desk towards a short hallway lined with plastic chairs. Kalmia sat down, never taking her gaze off the woman. Her face was lowered, but she could still see the color in her cheeks.</p><p>“Are you two friends?” She asked Bruce.</p><p>He shook his head. “She’s the commissioner’s secretary.”</p><p>His voice had returned to normal. Unable to offer more, Kalmia shrugged. “Oh.” </p><p>“When we get inside, we’ll be discussing your mother. Gordon may ask you a few questions about her. Can you handle that?”</p><p>Her eyebrows drew together as she pondered the question. It seemed like a no-brainer, so she simply nodded in reply. They didn’t wait very long, a few minutes at the most, and then the door behind Stacey’s desk opened.</p><p>“Hey commissioner, I have Mr. Wayne waiting for you.”</p><p>The man that stepped through the doorframe was a few inches shorter than Bruce and several pounds lighter. He had a headful of brown hair that grew whiter towards his scalp. Brown eyes sat behind thick black glasses. On his upper lip was a fuzzy caterpillar, two shades darker than the hair atop his head.</p><p>“Mr. Wayne? Good to see you.” When he spoke, the caterpillar danced.</p><p>Bruce and the commissioner shook hands. “Good to see you too. Can we steal a moment of your time?”</p><p>It was then that the commissioner looked down at Kalmia. His brown eyes widened ever so slightly, but the rest of his face remained impassive.</p><p>“Hello,” Kalmia said to him as she stood.</p><p>He nodded once, a small smile hidden beneath the thicket of hair on his upper lip. “Come on in.”</p><p>The three of them stepped into the commissioner’s small office. A dim space, busied with paperwork strewn about. A desk sat in the middle of the room, chairs on either side. The commissioner sat and adjusted his tie. </p><p>“What can I do for you?”</p><p>“Pamela Isley. She’s gone missing,” Bruce replied. </p><p>The commissioner leaned forward, his fingers interlocking atop the stack of papers on his desk. </p><p>“Pamela...That’s hardly breaking news. What’s it been, fifteen—twenty years?”</p><p>“She returned approximately three days ago. Went shopping in Burnley and hasn’t been seen since.” </p><p>The commissioner’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not seeing a problem here. It’s sounds to me like one less case file to deal with.” </p><p>Kalmia studied the man across from her. He didn’t seem at all disturbed by the fact that her mother had gone missing. Was this a regular occurrence for him? Did people often go missing without a trace? Was that why he was so callous, his reaction so subdued?</p><p>“It’s within human nature to be cruel. He is merely operating on basic instinct,” said Blue.</p><p>“That’s not true,” she replied. </p><p>Two sets of curious eyes turned her way, and she realized that she had spoken out loud. </p><p>“Pardon?” The commissioner asked. </p><p>Kalmia wasn’t sure how to respond. She could have told him what Blue had said but didn’t want to risk hurting his feelings. She also didn’t want to lie. </p><p>“Um...well you’re a police and the woman at Blossom’s said you could help me find her so...will you?” </p><p>He proffered her a strange look, one that Kalmia was getting used to receiving. </p><p>“Uh, it’s not that simple. If you’d like to file a missing person’s report, that’s fine. But if I remember correctly, she’s got a RAP sheet ten feet tall—</p><p>“We understand that,” Bruce interrupted curtly. “I’m not asking for you to log it in the system, I simply want you to be aware of her absence. All I ask is that if any of your guys happen to come across her, you’ll call me prior to taking her in.” </p><p>The commissioner looked back and forth between the two and used his hand to massage his chin. “Is there anything else I should know?” </p><p>There was a muted buzzing noise, and Bruce reached into his coat pocket. He produced a small black device and glanced at the screen. </p><p>“No, that’s all. Thank you for your time, Gordon.” </p><p>Bruce stood, so Kalmia did the same. The men shook hands. Following Bruce’s lead, Kalmia extended hers towards the commissioner. He hesitated before giving her a brief shake. </p><p>“It’s important that we find her. She could be in danger,” Kalmia said, soft but earnest.  </p><p>He nodded. “Duly noted.” </p><p>The pair left the office, Bruce waving to Stacy on the way out. They headed back to the metal doors. Bruce pressed the button and turned to her. </p><p>“I’m going to drop you off at Selina’s.”</p><p>Kalmia shook her head. “No. Why would you—I thought we were going to look for my mom?” </p><p>“She could be in danger, you said so yourself. The safest place for you is at Selina’s. When I have an update, I’ll inform you.” </p><p>The metal doors opened and they stepped inside. </p><p>“That doesn’t mean I should stop looking. I’ve wasted so much time already, why should I waste any more?” </p><p>“That bruise,” he said, motioning to her face. “How did you get it?” </p><p>She stared at him in confusion. “I-I was... there was a man and he... did it.” </p><p>Bruce let out a sigh. “That right there is the very reason you’ll be staying at Selina’s.” </p><p>“But—</p><p>“No. You’re lucky you weren’t injured further. The last thing I need right now is you roaming the streets defenceless.” </p><p>“I’m not defenceless,” Kalmia muttered. </p><p>“Not with me by your side,” Blue chimed. </p><p>The doors opened, and a few people entered the small space. Bruce side stepped to allow for more room. </p><p>Initially Kalmia was a bit irritated he’d assume she was incapable of defending herself, but the more she thought about it, the more the truth became apparent. She hadn’t been able to defend herself against any of the people who’d attacked her. Without Blue’s help, the likelihood of her escaping either scenario with her life was slim. </p><p>It was a bitter pill to swallow. Blue diligently reminded Kalmia of her inherent inferiority as a human compared to other species. But nothing could prepare her for the realization that she was also inferior to other humans as well.</p><p>They made their way back to Bruce’s car in silence. He walked over to her side and opened the door. Before climbing in, she stopped, peering up at him. </p><p>“Bruce, what’s a RAP sheet?” </p><p>He glowered in a way that made her wish she hadn’t said anything at all. Without waiting for his reply, she sat down, her head bowed. </p><p>“Record of arrest and prosecution.” </p><p>He shut the door. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“There are pancakes in the fridge if you get hungry.” </p><p>Kalmia nodded from the couch. “Will you be back tonight?” </p><p>“No. I’ll check in tomorrow morning.”</p><p>“Alright.” </p><p>Despite his apparent rush, Bruce lingered in the doorway. He’d already given her the rundown in the car. She wasn’t to open the door for anyone. She had to be careful on the fire-escape—although, when she asked what it was, he’d ignored her. Above all, under no circumstances was she to leave the apartment. </p><p>“Here.” </p><p>He walked over to her and grabbed a grey device off the coffee table. The black screen in front of her lit up. </p><p>“It’s a television,” he said. “You can change the channels by pressing this button.” </p><p>He motioned to the button with his thumb and then handed her the remote. </p><p>She took it. “Thanks.” </p><p>He nodded once and then walked out the door. There was the clicking sound of the lock setting into place. </p><p>“I rather dislike him,” Blue announced. </p><p>Kalmia rolled her eyes. “You dislike all humans.” </p><p>“That’s accurate. But I dislike him in particular because he's seems to think he knows what’s best for you.” </p><p>Kalmia fiddled with the remote between her fingers. “Maybe he does.” </p><p>“Have you forgotten that he’s a stranger? We don’t know him. We have no idea what his intentions are.” </p><p>Kalmia shook her head. “He’s a friend of Selina’s.” </p><p>“Does that really make him a friend of ours?” Blue bit back. </p><p>“Blue,” she sighed. “Not everyone we meet is out to harm us. Blossom was kind, and so was Selina. Even that man who gave us directions. Your crass assumptions about humans aren’t fair.” </p><p>Blue remained silent, and Kalmia focused on the television. Across the screen, little animated dogs danced and talked to one another. It was the strangest thing she’d ever seen. She leaned back, getting comfortable as she watched the television. Her mind was divided. Half her thoughts were with her mother. None of this would be happening if she’d allowed her to come to Gotham with her. The three of them would have returned home safely after a long day in the city. Her curiosity would have been satisfied, she’d have no reason to return. If only her mother hadn’t been so stubborn. All of that preaching about the dangers of the city, and yet, her mother was the first to fall prey. </p><p>“Reserve your judgement. You don’t know what happened,” Blue snapped.</p><p>It wasn’t often Kalmia wished Blue couldn’t hear her thoughts. But it would have been nice to think without an audience for once.</p><p>Blue decided not to comment and Kalmia tried to allot all her attention to the screen. The device Bruce handed her fiddled mindlessly between her fingers. Suddenly the screen blinked and the animated animals were gone. Kalmia looked down at the device, realizing she’d accidentally pressed one of the buttons. She pressed the same button Bruce had showed her and the screen blinked again, displaying a man dancing in the rain. She pressed the button, and the imaged changed. Again and again.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Blue asked.</p><p>Kalmia shrugged and continued to press the button. She stopped at the mention of Gotham. A woman stared back at her, face solemn.</p><p>“… I want to take you to Ryan Perry, who is at the scene of the crime now. Ryan, what can you tell us?”</p><p>A man appeared, flashing red and blue lights behind him. “Well, Summer, it’s a bit of a circus out here. Good evening viewers, Ryan Perry here, coming to you live from the scene of the crime in Burnley. Right now we’re following reports of gunfire from inside the residential complex that leaked out into the street behind us. At 6:08 local time, the first reports surfaced on dispatch radio for the Gotham City Police Department. Pedestrians and neighbours heard multiple gunshots. Eyewitnesses who saw the shooting occur report that approximately eight men dressed in all black arrived at the apartment complex around 5:50 p.m.. Multiple rounds of shots were fired soon after. There are three confirmed casualties. Two victims are in critical condition and have been transported to Gotham General. Police suspect this to be gang related violence connected to the BTM gang who have been inactive for quite some time. As we know, Ezrah Martin-Harris, a prominent member of the BTM gang, was arrested yesterday on drug and weapon possession charges. Whether there is a connection between tonight’s shooting and yesterday’s arrest is yet to be seen.The street is now closed for police investigation. Back to you, Summer."</p><p>The woman reappeared. “Thank you, Ryan. Stay with us. We’re going to take a quick break here as we continue to follow this breaking news right now. We’re working to gather more information. Stay with us on Gotham Insider. We’ll be right back.”</p><p>The image of Ezrah was only on the screen for a few moments. The man was clearly disheveled, looking directly at her with a degree of contempt that raised goosebumps along Kalmias flesh. There was no doubt about it. That was the man who’d attacked her.</p><p>Ezrah Matin-Harris.</p><p>She repeated the name over and over in her head, although she wasn’t at risk of ever forgetting that vile man. He'd violently stamped himself into the deepest part of her memory. But all she had was a face. No identity. No name. </p><p>Until now. </p><p>“What do you think will happen to him?” Blue asked.</p><p>Kalmia couldn’t be sure, but there was this deep visceral anger that had rooted itself inside her. Since he'd attacked her, she felt it there like an invisible limb that collected her resentment for safekeeping. It pounded and screeched for liberation—for the chance to make him pay for his actions. She sat forward, her hands pressed to her stomach where her rage boiled, and pictured his face. Only a few inches from hers, his putrid breath burning her eyes, his forceful hands scraping her skin and his lips, pulled taught in a smirk that read of pure arrogance. Ezrah-Martin Harris. </p><p>“It’s a shame we can’t get to him,” said Blue. “I’d like to give him a few etiquette lessons.”</p><p>Kalmia took a steading breath and looked over at her plant. “Do you think he’d do it again? Would he hurt someone else?”</p><p>“Humans are creatures of habit,” Blue replied. “The only way to ensure he doesn’t harm anyone is to take away his ability to do so."</p><p>Her anger quite liked the sound of that. She stood, taking Blue in her hands. The door stood four feet away, but the echo of Bruce's words rang loudly in her ears. </p><p>“You owe that man nothing,” Blue assured her. “Who is he to tell you what you can and cannot do?”</p><p>It was true. Though he'd been kind to her, they were hardly close friends. Maybe he wouldn't be too upset if she broke her promise. Maybe she could skirt past the truth, sparing his feelings altogether. He couldn't be mad with her if never found out. </p><p>“Remember Kallie, you have me by your side. You don't have to fear. We are strong together. </p><p>Blue's conviction was enough for Kalmia. If there was one being on Earth that she could fully trust, it was Bluebell. Together, they headed for the door. </p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. XIII - Viviane</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Trigger Warning Take Two: This chapter deals with domestic abuse, alcoholism and sex. It's a little intense but I tried my best to handle it with care. If that's not your cuppa PLEASE proceed in an orderly fashion to the next chapter. (I do have every intention to update the tags to properly reflect all the necessary elements of the story but until then...)Thanks and as always, Happy reading :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Viviane</p><hr/><p>Gone but Unforgotten </p><p> </p><p>A small, boxy red beater sat parked at the back of an old movie theatre. A dim white glow from the cinema marquee bathed the small lot. The heavy pitter patter of rain was tranquil against the raucous squawk of the car’s metal frame. Untamed passion fogged the windows.  </p><p>With the passenger’s seat reclined, Viviane straddled her love, Rinaldo. The rhythm of their pleasured gasps in tandem to the beating thrum of water slapping the pavement. </p><p>Inside the dark cabin, Viviane thrusted her hips forward, pulling a deep rumble from the base of Rinaldo’s chest.  Their damp skin clung together, wet from exertion and the heat that blew from the radiator.  She brought herself down on his length, threading her fingers through his raven curls.</p><p>“God, baby, don’t stop,” he gasped.</p><p>Intoxicated on cheap beer and each other, they revelled in the sound of skin smacking skin. Each needy thrust pushed the couple further into the heated depths of veneration.   </p><p>In one hand Rinaldo grasped her by the hip, angling her towards the dash. The other travelled down her stomach, past the smattering of dusky hair. His thumb sought out her bead of desire. As the pad of his finger brushed against the swollen bud, Viviane drew in a sharp breath. A wicked smirk played on his lips as he applied pressure, rubbing her with firm, circular strokes. </p><p>“You like that?” He rasped. </p><p>Shockwaves of pleasure reverberated through the length of her body. With her head tilted back, mouth ajar, Viviane was too high off the feeling to muster anything but strained whimpers. </p><p>She was close, her body felt like an elastic band pulled taught. </p><p>Her release was only a few strokes away. </p><p>“Don’t stop.”</p><p>The plea came out in a harsh whisper. In that moment she’d surrendered her body to him, relinquishing all autonomy and giving into the pleasure only he could provide her. </p><p>Her body tensed and the elastic band released, sending her soul shooting outwardly. Explosions of light played out behind her scrunched eyelids. Viviane leaned into the exquisite sensation, allowing her limbs to quiver with wild abandon in her lover's arms.   </p><p>When her muscles stopped vibrating, Viviane pulled her tired body forward, curling around his form.  </p><p>Her mouth hovered a hair strand’s breadth from his. The tip of her tongue peaked out, trailing over the bow of his lips. </p><p>His mouth fell open, his shallow breath mingling with hers.  </p><p>“Viv…shit I’m…” </p><p>She loved this part. More than anything, she loved watching him come unraveled around her. At his most vulnerable, he trusted her. He loved her. </p><p>And he’d cum for her. </p><p>She brushed her lips over his cheek, digging her nails into his shoulder blades and rocking her pelvis into his. </p><p>The sculpture that was his lean, chiseled frame went rigid. </p><p>Brown eyes, the colour of the Swiss chocolate she ate as a child, rolled heavenward. His grasp loosened as pleasure roiled through his limbs. She squeezed her thighs, feeling the ropes of his passion fill her cavity.  </p><p>A few moments of laboured breathing passed between them. </p><p>His quaking fingers travelled up her body, cradling her cheeks. </p><p>“Sei tutto per me.”  </p><p>His Italian was getting better everyday and the effort he’d put into learning her native language caused her heart to palpitate uncontrollably. His gentle fingers caressed her skin, his kind eyes wide and earnest. </p><p>Viviane smiled, a tearful, blindingly happy smile. </p><p>“Dammi un bacio.”</p><p>He complied, planting whisper soft kisses trailing from the alcove at the base of her neck to the apple of her cheek. As his mouth moved to hover over hers, her lips fell open. He took the opportunity to slot his lips to hers, his tongue licking ravenously insider her mouth. </p><p>Viviane wanted to go again, her body craved him even as his softening erection slipped out from her. But she wouldn’t push him, he had to be tired from his long day at work. His muscles were already sore from the hours at the construction site he devoted since dawn. </p><p>“You know,” he said, his mouth still on hers. “You’re too good at that. Are you sure I’m your first?” </p><p>A prideful laugh bubbled up from her throat. She pulled an inch away to look at his face. </p><p>Darkened from the long hours in the sun, his smooth ochre skin gleamed in the subdued light. His face was a field of sharp planes and angular lines, carved seamlessly together. Framed nicely by a curly mop of hair, a shade lighter than hers.</p><p>“No Rio, there’s only ever been you.” </p><p>His eyes scanned her face, serious for a moment. But then they softened into the pools of chocolate and he smirked. </p><p>“Good. I want to be your first, your last and everything in between.” </p><p>She vowed he would be, the vintage emerald diamond ring on her third finger was proof. There could never be anyone else. All the love she had to give, she’d gladly spent on him. </p><p>In just a few short months, she’d be eighteen. Her birthday would grant her the freedom she’s craved from the moment she laid eyes on Rio. The freedom of adulthood wouldn’t be without its consequences, but Viviane wasn’t worried about all the things she’d lose. She’d readily give up her home, her inheritance, her familial relationships, even her father’s approval to secure a life with her Rio. In love, there are sacrifices, trials they would have to overcome. Viviane wasn’t naïve as to think otherwise. All she knew for certain was that the only thing that stood between their shared forever was time. </p><p>***</p><p>In the early hours of the morning, Viviane crept through the basement window. The rain hadn’t let up, she was soaked within seconds. A trail of water followed her as she climbed down from the ledge.</p><p>Wading through the dark, she slipped out of her shoes and overcoat. With her hands held in front of her, she located the staircase.</p><p>Viviane was careful with every step, her bare feet hardly making a sound against the aged hardwood floor. As she opened the door to the ground floor, a light turned on. She staggered back, momentarily blinded and quickly grasped the railing to keep from falling down the stairs.</p><p>“Viviane.”</p><p>The voice came from ahead. Her heart hammered deafeningly in her chest and she swallowed a string of curses.</p><p>Standing in the doorjamb was Filippo, her father’s right hand man. Whenever possible, Viviane kept her distance from the large man. He had eyes tainted with soot that would follow her every movement with a disturbingly persistent diligence.</p><p>Viviane often wondered why her father had bothered with the high tech security cameras when he had Filippo in his employ. The man missed nothing.</p><p>“Your father is waiting for you in the study,” he said in his gruff Italian.</p><p>Viviane tried to swallow but her thrashing heart had lodged itself into the narrow canal of her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to reply, she was sure that her dread would pour from her lips if she dared parted them.</p><p>Filippo stepped out of the way for her to pass.</p><p>Viviane moved quickly down the hall, away from one danger and onto the next. Though she wanted nothing more than to run upstairs and hide beneath her sheets, she knew that delaying her father any further would only serve to worsen the situation.</p><p>At the large, dark stained mahogany door, Viviane gave a timid knock. There was a noise that resembled a grunt from inside the room.  Viviane ignored the tremble in her hand as she cracked the door open a sliver.</p><p>Her father stood at the window, staring through the glass. He wasn’t a very big man, in his platform dress shoes, he stood at five foot ten. He stayed lean, even well into his forties, but Viviane secretly wondered if it was because his diet consisted solely of imported Italian vino.</p><p>“Papi?”</p><p>Her voice was small, trapped by fear.</p><p>“Siediti.”</p><p>Viviane abandoned the door and walked over to the large chair across from his desk. She sat with her back straight and half her ass hanging off the seat.</p><p>“Papi, I can explain.” She drew in a fortifying breath. “It’s not what you think.”</p><p>Her father tipped a glass to his lips and swallowed the remaining liquid in two hearty gulps. When he turned, the glass launched from his grasp, shattering against the wall behind her. She flinched hard, almost falling out of the chair.</p><p>“You think I’m a fool?”</p><p>His voice never raised, but somehow the quiet fury was so much more threatening.</p><p>Viviane shook her head at once. “No papi, I don’t.”</p><p>Her father walked towards the desk, standing behind the large wooden structure. He stared at the mantle of the stone fireplace, his eyes landing on a framed picture of her mother holding him on their wedding day.</p><p>“I expected better from you Viviane. Have you no shame?” The acid in his tone quickly burned through her resolve, forcing tears into her eyes.</p><p>“Parading through this city, whoring yourself for any man who asks.”</p><p>She shook her head again. “I wasn’t doing—</p><p>“Do not lie to me!”</p><p>Spit flew from his quivering lips, his eyes red with rage. Viviane snatched her gaze from his, unable to withstand the unyielding waves of hatred pouring from his hardened expression.</p><p>There had been a time when he’d loved her as any father should. But her mother passed and he changed on her; transforming into a liquor-soaked shadow of the man he once was. She counted herself fortunate for a time after he’d shipped her off to a private school in Turino for high school. Having graduated, she was home with no where to escape. Nowhere to hide.</p><p>“You’ve sullied yourself for him?” The inflection at the end indicated it was a question he was asking but, there was a piercing edge that spoke of an apparent insight. He wasn’t looking for her answer, he only wanted an affirmation for his own.</p><p>She shook her head, eyes on her wringing hands. Her fourth finger was bare, having tucked Rio's ring safely in her purse.  “I-I…</p><p>“Speak up topolina.”</p><p>Hearing her childhood nickname, cut so much deeper than she could have fathomed. So far removed from the little girl she once was, her father had severed the tie that had connected her to the happy memories of her past. Now, every time she thought of her nickname, she’d think of this wretched moment.</p><p>“I-I love him.”</p><p>Her father walked around the desk, leaning against the ledge in front of her. He folded his arms over his chest.</p><p>“You say you love him?”</p><p>It sounded as if he was genuinely mulling over the notion, as if it had never occurred to him until right then.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Foolish child,” he scoffed. “You know nothing of love.”</p><p>Her eyes lifted to meet his hard gaze.</p><p>Her father had never laid hands on her, he’d been careful to rein in his temper before his fists could fly. It had given Viviane a false sense of security, a confidence she shouldn’t have had.</p><p>“I do papi. I love him. And he loves me.”</p><p>The defiance in her tone pulled a stark laugh from her father, completely devoid of humour.</p><p>“You think he loves you? You think he wants you?” His words were peppered with snorts.</p><p>“He wants money—my money. He wants a girl to fuck. He doesn’t want you!”</p><p>Tears welled over, leaking from the corners of her eyes. Her fingers curled into her palms, nails slicing into her skin but she didn’t dare make a sound.</p><p>Her father sighed, deep and tired.</p><p>“It’s evident you are not in your right mind. But I want to make myself clear, you are not to see him. You are not to speak to him. So much as a single look your way and I will have Filippo shoot him and toss his body into the river.”</p><p>The threat punched her in the gut, stealing her breath.</p><p>“Papi, no!” She gasped.</p><p>His eyes widened and it was in that moment Viviane realized she’d been too lax towards her father. The heel of his palm made contact with her face first, his fingers clad in platinum rings following through. The force knocked her clean from the chair.</p><p>There was no pain, not yet. Her adrenaline and fear soaked up the impact of the blow. But her hands, shaking frantically, cupped the side of her head.</p><p>“You don’t tell me no!”</p><p>Her instincts cried out for her to stay silent, to avoid any further damage. But Viviane was long past sensible.</p><p>“I-I’m…go-gonna…marry h…” she croaked.</p><p>Rough hands shoved her flat on the floor, her head rolling to meet his.</p><p>“Marry him?” Her father sneered, his sour breath fanning over her face. “Over my dead body.”</p><p>This time his fist connected with the edge of her cheek, grazing the tip of her nose. A pained gasp was all she could manage before he hit her again, in the mouth. The metallic taste of blood pooled behind her scrunched lips. There wasn’t much she could do to defend herself, his body weight on hers was elephantine.</p><p>The only thing Viviane could hope for was the sweet release of unconsciousness before she could experience the agony of broken bones and ruptured organs. </p><p>“Papi! PAPI! BASTA!”</p><p>Viviane didn’t remember opening her mouth. She certainly couldn’t bring herself to scream but there was a voice crying out on her behalf, begging for mercy.</p><p>The rain of blows ceased but there was no relief. A cough built up inside her chest, clamouring for release but Viviane had no strength to allow for it. Instead, to keep from choking, she used her tongue to push out a pool of blood and saliva. In doing so, a few of her dislodged teeth slid along her cheek and clattered to the floor. She wanted to look, to see how many she'd lost but with her eyes swollen shut, she couldn't even manage that. </p><p>“Why?”</p><p>That voice pulled her from her shadowy reverie. It sounded like the call of an angel in the fiery depths of hell.</p><p>“You don’t tell me how to discipline her Jack.”</p><p>Jack.</p><p>She exhaled, her chest heavy with relief. Jack was here.</p><p>“Viviane.”</p><p>Careful hands took hers, attempting to lift her from the floor.</p><p>“I need you to get up.”</p><p>Every movement was dipped in agony, it was easier to lay still.</p><p>“C’mon. Get up! Please.”</p><p>She tried to pry an eye open, to look at him but a mixture of nausea and misery left her eyelids too heavy to lift.</p><p>“I need you to work with me. C’mon.”</p><p>Viviane vaguely remembered that Jack was only a few inches taller, a few pounds heavier. He couldn’t carry her limp body by himself.</p><p>“Leave her.”</p><p>“No,” Jack snapped. “Get up Viv.”</p><p>“She should spend the night on the floor like the dog she is.”</p><p>“Get up!”</p><p>The Italian and English were muddled together, confusing Vivian's sluggish mind. She wanted to comply, allow her brother to whisk her to safety, far from their father’s reach.</p><p>“Get up!”</p><p>“She’s been like this for a while.”</p><p>Viviane blinked hard, her eyes focusing on the limp body at her feet. The memory she'd seen shouldn't have been so vivid, not after two decades. The specifics should have been lost to time and yet... </p><p>“She’s out cold,” Enzo remarked.</p><p>With Ivy sprawled out on the floor, it was hard for Viviane to picture her as the green-skinned, fanged monster she'd constructed in her mind. If things had been different, Viviane would have felt a morsel of guilt or a shred of pity. If it were twenty years ago and she'd stumbled upon this scene, she would have been filled with the bitter rage of injustice. But as things were, she felt nothing. There was only cold, neglected space in the vacant chasm of her chest. </p><p>She'd been laying this way for at least an hour. Someone with an iota of sense finally checked on her and sure enough, she was alive. Barely.</p><p>Viviane looked at Enzo. “How many doses did you give her?”</p><p>“One every twelve hours, like you said.”</p><p>She nodded and stood.</p><p>“She must be sedated like this when we move her.”</p><p>Viviane bid the ginger woman another look, taking a moment to appreciate her overdue slice of justice. Ivy wasn’t a defenceless teenager, cowering from the hands of her cruel father. Unlike her, Ivy deserved every ounce of pain and grief she had coming her way. And Viviane was more than willing to dole it out.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. XIV - Pamela</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pamela</p><hr/><p>Misery Loves Company</p><p> </p><p>“Get up.”<br/><br/>The <span class="s-ja-t">toe</span> of a leather boot nudged her in the <span class="s-ja-t">stomach</span> but Pam laid perfectly still, <span class="s-ja-t">eyes</span> <span class="s-ja-t">shut</span>, breathing measured and shallow. Starved of vital light energy, her <span class="s-ja-t">body</span> was <span class="s-ja-t">undergoing</span> an accelerated case of sarcopenia. Her healthy muscles atrophied, her <span class="s-ja-t">senses</span> greatly <span class="s-ja-t">reduced</span>. <span class=""> <span class="s-ja-t">Bones</span>, no longer cushioned with fibrous tissue, jutted into the concrete floor, staining her ashen skin maroon. </span> Clumps of <span class="s-ja-t">hair</span> pulled away from her scalp without <span class="s-ja-t">resistance</span>. Simply put, it <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> an easy task for Pam to play dead because she was snared in the pestilent clutches of organ failure.<br/><br/>“She’s out cold.”<br/><br/>It <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> Scar-boy. She could <span class="s-ja-t">tell</span> because he and the <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span> <span class="s-ja-t">were</span> the only two that <span class="s-ja-t">spoke</span> <span class="s-ja-t">English</span>. The <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span> had come in with two of her sycophants after <span class="s-ja-t">noticing</span> her inactivity. Pam had guessed correctly; there were <span class="s-ja-t">hidden</span> <span class="s-ja-t">cameras</span> planted somewhere. She <span class="s-ja-t">wondered</span> if there <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> some unknown face getting off on watching her slowly decay in a <span class="s-ja-t">box</span> that stank of piss and mold.<br/><br/>“How many <span class="s-ja-t">doses</span> did you <span class="s-ja-t">give</span> her?”<br/><br/>Right! Because <span class="s-ja-t">leaving</span> her to rot wasn’t <span class="s-ja-t">punishment</span> enough. Besides, whatever it <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> they were injecting <span class="s-rg-t">her</span> with <span class="s-or-t">didn</span>'t seem to <span class="s-ja-t">have</span> any noticeable effects. With her <span class="s-ja-t">body</span> feeding on itself for <span class="s-ja-t">energy</span>, Pam would have <span class="s-ja-t">figured</span> her toxic immunity had been discarded for more vital functions. It <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> a <span class="s-ja-t">relief</span> to <span class="s-ja-t">know</span> that she still had one effective barrier of <span class="s-ja-t">defence</span>.<br/><br/>“One every twelve <span class="s-ja-t">hours</span>, like you <span class="s-ja-t">said</span>.”<br/><br/>All Pam needed <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> a few <span class="s-ja-t">seconds</span> with their <span class="s-ja-t">backs</span> <span class="s-ja-t">turned</span>. She’d gladly stab each of them with as many needles as it <span class="s-ja-t">took</span> to bleed them <span class="s-ja-t">dry</span>. Could <span class="s-ja-t">death</span> by a thousand <span class="s-ja-t">cuts</span> be enough to satiate her bloodlust? She was desperate to find out.<br/><br/>“She must be sedated like this when we <span class="s-ja-t">move</span> her.”<br/><br/>Ah, therein laid the next step of her evil plan. <span class="s-ja-t">Reduce</span> her to her most vulnerable state, incapable of <span class="s-ja-t">retaliation</span> in <span class="s-ja-t">order</span> to easily move her to a new location. Out of the <span class="s-ja-t">city</span> perhaps, maybe even out of the <span class="s-ja-t">state</span>. Who would <span class="s-ja-t">come</span> <span class="s-ja-t">looking</span> for her in butt-fuck nowhere Nebraska?<br/><br/>Their best bet would <span class="s-ja-t">be</span> to <span class="s-ja-t">wait</span> until nightfall to <span class="s-ja-t">move</span> her. It was unlikely that they’d <span class="s-ja-t">know</span> that the <span class="s-ja-t">sun</span> <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> her <span class="s-ja-t">source</span> of <span class="s-ja-t">sustenance</span>. If she could play dead long enough to trick them into <span class="s-ja-t">getting</span> her outside, she could poison a few <span class="s-ja-t">guards</span> and <span class="s-ja-t">make</span> her escape. At the very least, she could send word to Swamp Thing.<br/><br/>The hard part was <span class="s-ja-t">holding</span> onto <span class="s-ja-t">consciousness</span>. Unable to produce heat, her waning body temperature invited fatigue. She could withstand a few more <span class="s-ja-t">hours</span> perhaps, but days...<br/><br/>She'd <span class="s-ja-t">have</span> to be smart, there was no <span class="s-ja-t">room</span> for impulsivity. There would only be a brief window of <span class="s-ja-t">opportunity</span>. If she was too eager, they’d overpower her within <span class="s-ja-t">moments</span>. If she was too lenient, she’d be as good as dead. And more importantly, the <span class="s-ja-t">possibility</span> of returning home to her precious flower would disappear altogether.<br/><br/>The clack of the <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span>’s heels echoed in the small space.<br/><br/>“<span class="s-rg s-ja-t">Dammi</span> <span class="s-ja-t">un</span> <span class="s-rg-t">momento</span> con lei.”<br/><br/><span class="s-rg-t">Scarboy</span> sputtered in disbelief. “No, <span class="s-rg-t">è</span> <span class="s-rg-t">pericolosa</span>!”<br/><br/>The <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span> <span class="s-ja-t">let</span> out a sharp note of <span class="s-ja-t">laughter</span>. “<span class="s-rg-t">Guardala</span>, lei <span class="s-rg-t">è</span> quasi <span class="s-rg-t">morta</span>! Dai. ”<br/><br/>The <span class="s-ja-t">men</span> <span class="s-ja-t">filed</span> out of the <span class="s-ja-t">room</span> and there was the <span class="s-ja-t">click</span> of a shut door. The <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span> paced leisurely, the staccato slap of each <span class="s-ja-t">step</span> felt like a direct kick to Pam’s <span class="s-ja-t">brain</span>. She grit her <span class="s-ja-t">teeth</span> together.<br/><br/>“May I <span class="s-ja-t">tell</span> you about my <span class="s-ja-t">father</span>?” She <span class="s-ja-t">asked</span>, in a small voice. The <span class="s-ja-t">edge</span> of <span class="s-ja-t">dominance</span> was <span class="s-ja-t">gone</span> from her <span class="s-ja-t">tone</span>.<br/><br/>There <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> a <span class="s-ja-t">moment</span> of <span class="s-ja-t">pause</span>, as if she <span class="s-ja-t">expected</span> Pam to reply. When she didn’t, the <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span> <span class="s-ja-t">resumed</span>.<br/><br/>“I <span class="s-ja-t">lost</span> my <span class="s-ja-t">father</span> twice. Once, on the <span class="s-ja-t">day</span> my <span class="s-ja-t">mother</span> <span class="s-ja-t">died</span> and again on the <span class="s-ja-t">day</span> I <span class="s-ja-t">killed</span> him. While he was alive, he was... a passionate man. He <span class="s-ja-t">believed</span> in three <span class="s-ja-t">things</span>, his <span class="s-ja-t">faith</span>, his <span class="s-ja-t">power</span> and his <span class="s-ja-t">family</span>. They were crucial to him, the very reason he <span class="s-ja-t">walked</span> and <span class="s-ja-t">breathed</span>. They <span class="s-ja-t">provided</span> <span class="s-ja-t">balance</span>, the <span class="s-ja-t">bricks</span> and mortar of his <span class="s-ja-t">support system</span>. <span class="s-ja-t">Losing</span> one meant the <span class="s-ja-t">collapse</span> of his <span class="s-ja-t">world</span> and by <span class="s-ja-t">extension</span> the <span class="s-ja-t">collapse</span> of my own. For so long I had a vested interest in <span class="s-ja-t">securing</span> the delicate equilibrium of my <span class="s-ja-t">father</span>’s <span class="s-ja-t">world</span>. But when I <span class="s-ja-t">started</span> <span class="s-ja-t">living</span> for myself, when I finally chose to prioritize my <span class="s-ja-t">happiness</span>, he fell apart. And for <span class="s-ja-t">reasons</span> beyond me, he was <span class="s-ja-t">determined</span> to <span class="s-ja-t">take</span> me down too. ”<br/><br/>She <span class="s-ja-t">hesitated</span>, seemingly lost in her melancholic stupor. Pam was only mildly <span class="s-ja-t">interested</span> in what she <span class="s-ja-t">had</span> to <span class="s-ja-t">say</span>. She <span class="s-ja-t">hoped</span> that wading through mindless backstory could <span class="s-ja-t">reveal</span> a useful tidbit about the <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span>’s <span class="s-ja-t">identity</span>.<br/><br/>“Mal comune, mezzo <span class="s-rg-t">gaudio</span>,” she tittered to herself.“ My <span class="s-ja-t">father</span>’s <span class="s-ja-t">misery</span> was too much to bear alone, so he heaped it on me and Jack. I suppose it’s true; a trouble shared is a trouble halved. ”<br/><br/>“He <span class="s-ja-t">chose</span> to <span class="s-ja-t">share</span> his <span class="s-ja-t">suffering</span> with his <span class="s-ja-t">fists</span>. It likely gave him a semblance of <span class="s-ja-t">power</span>, when he otherwise had none. Although that wasn’t the greatest sin he committed against me. ”<br/><br/>She <span class="s-ja-t">cleared</span> her <span class="s-ja-t">throat</span>, as if on the <span class="s-ja-t">verge</span> of <span class="s-ja-t">tears</span>. It <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> a strange time to <span class="s-ja-t">have</span> a heart-to-heart, especially under these <span class="s-ja-t">circumstances</span>. But this <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span> was <span class="s-ja-t">threatening</span> to <span class="s-ja-t">kill</span> her <span class="s-ja-t">daughter</span>, far be it for Pam to <span class="s-ja-t">judge</span> her current emotional collapse.<br/><br/>“He took away our <span class="s-ja-t">time</span>. My <span class="s-ja-t">father</span> had <span class="s-ja-t">locked</span> me away for the <span class="s-ja-t">short</span> two <span class="s-ja-t">weeks Rio</span> had <span class="s-ja-t">left</span>. Of <span class="s-ja-t">course</span> there <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> no <span class="s-ja-t">way</span> for me to <span class="s-ja-t">know</span>, I <span class="s-ja-t">thought</span> we’d <span class="s-ja-t">have</span> a <span class="s-ja-t">lifetime</span> together, but we <span class="s-ja-t">spent</span> his last days <span class="s-ja-t">separated</span>. <span class=""> My <span class="s-ja-t">father</span>’s <span class="s-ja-t">done</span> some unforgivable things, and he’s <span class="s-ja-t">hurt</span> me in so many <span class="s-ja-t">ways</span> but not getting the chance to <span class="s-ja-t">say</span> <span class="s-rg-t">goodbye—to</span> <span class="s-ja-t">tell</span> him I <span class="s-ja-t">loved</span> him, I <span class="s-ja-t">believe</span> that is at the top of the <span class="s-ja-t">list</span> of <span class="s-ja-t">reasons</span> why he ’s <span class="s-ja-t">burning</span> in <span class="s-ja-t">hell</span>. </span> ”<br/><br/>She <span class="s-ja-t">blew</span> out a shuddering breath. Her <span class="s-ja-t">pain</span> was so potent, Pam could practically smell it in the stale air. Her sob story wasn't unique, in <span class="s-rg-t">Arkham</span> she'd <span class="s-ja-t">heard</span> countless convicts lament about their <span class="s-ja-t">tragedies</span>, <span class="s-ja-t">hell</span>, Pam had <span class="s-ja-t">shared</span> a few of her own. And yet, the soft tenor of her <span class="s-ja-t">voice</span> anchored Pam to <span class="s-ja-t">reality</span>, <span class="s-ja-t">keeping</span> the lethargy at <span class="s-ja-t">bay</span>. As if her <span class="s-ja-t">pain</span> <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> the ringing alarm <span class="s-ja-t">keeping</span> her awake.<br/><br/>“Still, I cannot <span class="s-ja-t">say</span> I <span class="s-ja-t">hate</span> him. Grief fuelled his actions. I cannot fault him for being human. But you, Ivy, you <span class="s-ja-t">committed</span> the cardinal sin. My <span class="s-ja-t">father</span> may have <span class="s-ja-t">taken</span> Rio from me for a few <span class="s-ja-t">weeks</span>, whereas you <span class="s-ja-t">took</span> him from me forever. ”<br/><br/>There had <span class="s-ja-t">been</span> many <span class="s-ja-t">crimes</span> accused of Pam over the <span class="s-ja-t">years</span>. In <span class="s-ja-t">fairness</span>, <span class="s-ja-t">most</span> were rightfully tied to <span class="s-ja-t">acts</span> of bio-terrorism. Not once, however, had she been <span class="s-ja-t">accused</span> of ruining someone's <span class="s-bl s-ja-t">life</span><span class="s-bl-t">.</span> She <span class="s-ja-t">found</span> it both impressive and pathetic. Human connection had always confounded her. This <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span> had wasted more <span class="s-ja-t">energy</span> and time mourning that man than she had <span class="s-ja-t">spent</span> <span class="s-ja-t">loving</span> him. There wasn't any <span class="s-ja-t">person Pam</span> could <span class="s-ja-t">spent</span> two <span class="s-ja-t">decades</span> in <span class="s-ja-t">tears</span> for, it was simply ludicrous.<br/><br/>“I’m <span class="s-ja-t">telling</span> you this because I <span class="s-ja-t">want</span> you to <span class="s-ja-t">know</span> that what I’m <span class="s-ja-t">doing</span> isn’t without <span class="s-ja-t">merit</span>," the <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span> <span class="s-ja-t">continued</span>. "And like my <span class="s-ja-t">father</span> <span class="s-ja-t">did</span> onto me, I will <span class="s-ja-t">do</span> onto you. This <span class="s-ja-t">burden</span> I’ve <span class="s-ja-t">carried</span> for nineteen <span class="s-ja-t">years</span> isn’t mine alone to bear. You <span class="s-ja-t">deserve</span> to suffer too. ”<br/><br/>Pam <span class="s-ja-t">gave</span> up the charade and tilted her <span class="s-ja-t">head</span> to a <span class="s-ja-t">side</span>, cracking open her <span class="s-ja-t">eyes</span>. The dim overhead light stung, and she released a low hiss. In the <span class="s-ja-t">shadows</span>, the <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span> leaned casually against the <span class="s-ja-t">wall</span>. When their <span class="s-ja-t">gazes</span> met, a <span class="s-ja-t">trace</span> of a <span class="s-ja-t">smile</span> appeared.<br/><br/>A strangled cough rattled through her <span class="s-ja-t">throat</span>, coating her <span class="s-ja-t">tongue</span> in <span class="s-ja-t">blood</span>. “I’m willing to <span class="s-ja-t">suffer</span>. <span class="s-ja-t">Leave</span> her out of this.”<br/><br/>“Physical torture can be <span class="s-ja-t">forgotten</span>. <span class="s-ja-t">Wounds</span> <span class="s-ja-t">heal</span>, scars <span class="s-ja-t">fade</span>. Psychological torture, cracking the psyche, that is <span class="s-ja-t">experienced</span> for an eternity. ”<br/><br/>“She’s innocent,” Pam croaked, her heavy lids <span class="s-ja-t">struggling</span> to stay open.<br/><br/>“Can the <span class="s-ja-t">devil</span>’s spawn be innocent?”<br/><br/>Pam <span class="s-ja-t">managed</span> a snort. If she <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> the <span class="s-ja-t">devil</span>, what would that make half of <span class="s-rg-t">Gotham</span>’s <span class="s-ja-t">population</span>? There <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> no sense pleading, her <span class="s-ja-t">breath</span> was better saved. But there <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> one <span class="s-ja-t">thing</span> she <span class="s-ja-t">wanted</span> to <span class="s-ja-t">know</span>.<br/><br/>“Who <span class="s-ja-t">are</span> you?”<br/><br/>The <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span> straightened and walked over to Pam. She knelt, <span class="s-ja-t">pressing</span> her elbows to her knees. "Hmm, that was the first question you asked me. I am not shocked you do not know who I am but I’m sure my <span class="s-ja-t">father</span>’s <span class="s-ja-t">reputation</span> proceeded him. I’ll <span class="s-ja-t">give</span> you some more <span class="s-ja-t">time</span> to <span class="s-ja-t">think</span> about it. In the meantime, I’ll have lunch brought down. We can’t have you <span class="s-ja-t">dying</span> on me. ”<br/><br/>Pam refused to <span class="s-ja-t">watch</span> the <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span> <span class="s-ja-t">leave</span>. She raked her <span class="s-ja-t">brain</span>, <span class="s-ja-t">sifting</span> through her <span class="s-ja-t">knowledge</span> of the Italian crime families in <span class="s-rg-t">Gotham</span>. She couldn’t be a <span class="s-or-t">Bertinilli, they</span>’d been wiped out. A <span class="s-rg-t">Falcone</span> perhaps. There was also <span class="s-rg-t">Santo</span> <span class="s-rg-t">Cassamento</span> but <span class="s-ja-t">last</span> she <span class="s-ja-t">heard</span>, he was very much alive and in <span class="s-ja-t">prison</span>. The <span class="s-rg s-ja-t">Panessa</span><span class="s-ja-t"> family</span>? Her <span class="s-ja-t">head</span> <span class="s-ja-t">began</span> to pound, a dull throbbing directly behind her <span class="s-ja-t">eyes</span>. There <span class="s-ja-t">was</span> no <span class="s-ja-t">way</span> she could <span class="s-ja-t">deduce</span> the <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span>’s <span class="s-ja-t">identity</span> from the little information she’d <span class="s-ja-t">given</span> her. There <span class="s-ja-t">were</span> <span class="s-ja-t">dozens</span> of mafia members, even whittling it down to the <span class="s-rg s-ja-t">Costra</span><span class="s-ja-t"> Nostra </span><span class="s-rg s-ja-t">gang</span> would <span class="s-ja-t">leave</span> her with three <span class="s-ja-t">possibilities</span>. Pam groaned. How could she hope to <span class="s-ja-t">defeat</span> an <span class="s-ja-t">opponent</span> she didn't know?<br/><br/>The <span class="s-ja-t">answer</span> was simple, she couldn't.<br/><br/>Regardless, that wasn't her foremost problem. The only thing she <span class="s-ja-t">needed</span> to focus on was staying awake. <span class=""> If her weary eyelids slipped for but a <span class="s-ja-t">moment</span>, it didn't matter what the <span class="s-ja-t">woman</span>'s <span class="s-ja-t">name</span> <span class="s-ja-t">was</span>, she wouldn't survive long enough for it to make any difference. </span><br/><br/>A <span class="s-ja-t">task</span> easier said than <span class="s-ja-t">done</span>. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sooo...aside from some light revision and edits, I will be taking a smol break from posting. No more than a few weeks. In the meantime, I'd love to know your thoughts and always, thanks for reading :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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